


Compass

by OutOfInk



Category: Dream Team - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Colorblind GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Dream is just vibing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fear, Fluff, Gen, George has too many questions, George isnt tho, Hurt/Comfort, I dont want to put anymore tags that relate to the story it’ll just be spoilers, Minecraft, Monsters, Not a romance, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Queerplatonic DreamNotFound, Queerplatonic Relationships, Secrets, Stranded, Strangers to Friends, They are just bros, Trapped, Violence, anyway, haha - Freeform, maybe if you squint, maybe next time, no beta we die like men, platonic friendship, please, please give me constructive criticism i would like to know how to get better, sorry :(, super natural - Freeform, theyre both protective, uhhh i’m not sure what i’m doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26518576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutOfInk/pseuds/OutOfInk
Summary: “You know,” he heard one day, George isn't sure from where. “There’s something up there, in that forest.”He wasn’t one to believe in the supernatural. At first, he had scoffed, and merely continued on with his day. If there was anything truly up in the dark, and honestly somewhat creepy forest just yonder from George's cabin, it probably was just an animal of sorts.Or maybe not.Or.In which George travels a little too far into the forest.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 243
Kudos: 484





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhh hello. i literally have no clue what i’m doing this is just a huge soup of nonsense, but I will always accept constructive criticism! 
> 
> If any CC mentioned in this fic wants it down, it’ll be down without hesitation.
> 
> EDIT: This isn't really a romance, I’ve simply tagged it as that due to the fact that the relationship I’ve written for them can be viewed as such. I’m putting this here just as a heads up. I hope you all can still enjoy the story!
> 
> Thank you :)

“You know,” he heard one day, George isn't sure from where. “There’s something up there, in that forest.”

He wasn’t one to believe in the supernatural. At first, he had scoffed, and merely continued on with his day. If there was anything, truly something up in the dark, and honestly somewhat creepy forest just yonder from his cabin, it probably was just an animal of sorts. 

Maybe something big, judging from the snapped branches around camp, some within sight of where he resides.

Maybe something strong, judging from the random new landmarks something animal sized couldn’t have made.

Maybe something nimble, judging from the lack of animals he’s seen around, the lack of birds chirping, the lack of _noise._

George has been up in Oregon for quite some time, renting out some cabin a friend had recommended to him. _There’s a great view,_ they had said. _It’d be a nice break for someone as busy as you. You_ do _have a month off, don't you?_

And, _yes,_ George does have a month off. Which is ridiculously unreasonable, considering the fact he codes for a living. He's been working for an up-and-coming sort of business, and he's one of the few people who can code. His boss was confident enough to give him a _lot_ of time…

Obviously, George wasn’t stupid enough to actually take a month off. He doesn't make enough doing only that, so.

The plan was something like this; Go to Oregon, (Something he honestly shouldn’t have done, now that he thinks about it) take a break for a week, go back to the UK, and then ask for overtime.

Simple.

It's been six days, and while, yes, the views of the sunsets and the nice noise of the lush forest are fantastic, George has been unreasonably paranoid.

Maybe it was the random old man, _George is_ 99% sure _that it was an old man,_ who had told him the little fun fact that he really didn't need to hear that set his nerves off whenever he swears he's heard something that he shouldn’t have heard. Seen something _off._

George is glad that it's his last day up in the middle of nowhere. 

Maybe that's why he had decided to go on a hike that morning, off into a place he didn't quite know too well. 

Maybe that's why he had decided to go farther than what was advised on the stupid little panflip said to go.

Maybe that's the reason why he's now staring into the impossibly dark lush of the forest, the one that had something in it.

Maybe it's the thought of, _‘I’ll be gone tomorrow, I'll be fine,’_ that makes him so brave.

George… isn't the smartest person around, but he _is_ intelligent, most of the time. Truly, he knows that just being out here is probably a horrible idea, staring into the _forest_ is an even worse one, and yet.

This little spark, this little feeling in his chest is something that makes him a little too brave, makes him feel a little too strong.

George is a reasonable person.

He isn't sure what part of him believes that taking one step in front of the other is a smart idea, _yet._

He finds himself moving.

He finds himself walking head first into the forest. One step in front of the other. Something easy for him. Behind him, the light he's so used to grows smaller and smaller with every step he takes.

That’s something he's not used to.

The birds here are just as quiet, too.

* * *

This _sucks._

George is tired, cold, wet, and kinda hates himself at the moment for even _thinking_ about going deeper into the forest. 

Underneath his feet, the mud gurgles noisily, every step noisier than the last. The cooler air bites at his face, leaving his nose and ears stinging uncomfortably. It's been maybe an hour and a half, and he already wants to turn around, and his aching legs were _really_ not helping him. Honestly, George isn't sure how people can do this for hours. Sure, the views are nice, even if everything does look like piss to him.

George has definitely made a mistake, coming out the way out here. Its not like hes _actually_ going to find anything. God, _why is he so fucking stupid?_

Just thinking about his reasoning makes him cringe on the inside, and he can only sigh, hands running down his face. George supposes there wasn’t really much to lose by coming out here, anyway.

_Besides die at the hands of some fake monster._ At this point, he’s pretty sure that there isn't even anything in the forest.

The only thing that's been on his mind this entire time is that fact that it's almost always dead quiet. It's something that makes George’s insides feel funny, and makes sweat drip down his face when he thinks he’s seen something, but at the same time it's just as comforting. If he can't hear anything, that means nothing is by him. That nothing is going to get him.

Small twigs snap under his feet, and George flinches back, almost sending himself flying into the mud. His heart thunders in his chest, but he's able to calm himself quickly, a hand resting on his chest. 

It doesn't matter though, because his heart seems to stop on its own when he looks at the ground.

An arrow stares right back at him. It points in the opposite way he's going, towards himself. George takes a few steps back, a dozen different thoughts flying though his head. 

_An animal didn't do that._

_A person made that._

_Who made that?_

**_Who else is here?_ **

A crow caws in the distance, and George jumps at the sound. The only sound. The only one he heard throughout the entire journey through the woods, the only alive thing. 

It makes him uneasy.

That’s when he decides to turn back. This was his last day and he spent it searching for nothing, George is fine with that. He’s fine with walking away from this _alive._ With every step, the ringing in his ears grows louder, every step taking is larger than the last. Before George even realizes it, he's running running running through the forest, twins snap at his feet, branches hitting him square in the face, and he's running running _running running running-_

Then George is flat on his ass in record time. He should’ve paid more attention to where he was going.

In front of him, the only thing that greets his eyes is the thick coat of something. Something _large,_ something _dangerous._

He can only make a guess about what it is, but one look at the things head and he _knows exactly what it is._ A bear sits in front of him, back turned, munching loudly on something that George can't see. 

George’s eyes fly to the floor. Hs distantly aware of his hands shaking, his body trembling, and his chest feeling relatively empty, like he can't quite catch his breath-

But the only thing he can do is _sit. He can't move. Even if he wanted to._

He can hear the beast slowly move its head, eyes burning holes into the top of his head. George's stomach _drops._

_He's going to die he's going to die he’s going to die he’s going to die-_

Heavy footsteps fill his ears, accompanying the ringing he already hears. The bear is too close to him to move now, its sour breath on his face, George can hear the low growl in its throat, _he's going to die-_

Before the bear can do anything, it's running. Not towards him, away from him, running in the opposite direction.

George still can't move. He's shaking too much for that, his chest hurts too much for him to think about what else awaits him on the way back, what else is in this damn forest.

He hears another twig snap, and this time it wasn’t because of him.

George hears padding footsteps.

With every second they grow closer.

George holds his breath. In his head, he’s silently begging whatever god is up there for him to _live._ He doesn't care about whats in this stupid forest anymore, he _just wants to leave._

The footsteps stop.

George tries as hard as he can to turn around, and it upsets him that he almost doesn't do it. Once he does, he kinda wishes he never did.

About a hundred feet away from him, a man with a mask stands watching him from behind a tree, their hand on the base of the trunk.

The smiley face on the damn thing didn't help George at _all._


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! 
> 
> Thank you to every one who had left kudos/comments/or had just decided to read this! I appreciate every single one of you :)
> 
> Again, I accept constructive criticism. Thanks!

It was silent.

George couldn’t move. Even if he did, there was nowhere to go. There wasn’t a road for miles way up here in the forest, nowhere for him to run.

He feels faint, like he's not entirely there. Everything around him feels distant, and he can't quite seem to focus.

Well, he  _ can  _ focus. Only on one thing.

The one thing he can focus on is what George thinks is a man, his body mostly hidden behind a large tree of sorts, easily three times as wide as he is. His head is just barely visible, poking out slightly.

There wasn’t as much light anymore.

With a heavy feeling in his chest, George slowly realizes that it's getting  _ dark.  _

The trees are thick, so most light couldn’t make its way down onto where he was anyway, but when his eyes catch on an open place high in the treetops, the sky is a dark blue. The sun is setting now, he's cold, and tired, and scared,  _ but he can’t move. _

The stranger, though. He seems to think otherwise.

Slowly, he lets himself fall away from the tree, slowly making his way to George. 

_ Move move move move move move,  _ his mind chants.  _ You need to move  _ right now-

But he  _ can't. _

The stranger is taking larger steps, now.

He's getting closer.

And closer.

And  _ closer. _

George isn't sure how, but one moment he's on the floor, the next he's  _ gone.  _ He's running faster than he's ever run before, and he doesn't look back.

Within moments, his chest starts to hurt, his legs burn horribly, but he runs runs runs. George doesn't even  _ try  _ to look back, he just continues running.

More twigs hit him like before, and he almost falls once or twice, but the sound of something in the distance makes him run harder.

It continued on like that for quite some time, George running for his  _ goddamn life,  _ all the while everything starts to hurt worse and worse. There’s a sharp pang where his heart is, and the burn in his legs feels almost white hot, but he  _ can't stop.  _ He can’t freeze again, he absolutely  _ can’t. _

The blurs of colors passing him by began to slowly come into focus, and he quickly throws a glance over his shoulder. George was half expecting the man to be there, yet-

He sees no one.

He doesn't stop running, though. Slowly, he starts to slow his pace, throwing more looks over his shoulders while he does so, not being too careful. 

When he finally stops, he almost collapses onto the floor. George doubles over, his hands resting on his knees as he swallows large gulps of air. His entire body cries in relief at the lack of exertion, and George can’t say that he's  _ not. _

With one more long look at the path behind him, he takes in his surroundings. 

George was right, the sun must have set a long time ago, now, for the forest was darker than before, uncomfortably so. If he can't make it back in time, it’ll be pitch black. His path ahead is filled with random rocks, snapped branches, and twigs scattered around the forest floor, so it won't be an easy journey. 

A breeze flies through the forest, and George is grateful that he's brought his windbreaker. He pulls it tighter around himself, and continues to walk.

George’s eyes stay on the ground for the most part, he doesn't want to spook himself again. His eyes catch random vegetation or random rocks every other second, everything standing out to him more than usual. In his head, George names everything he sees.

A black rock.

Blue flower.

Small ferns scattered about.

It's tricky for him to name out all the colors he sees, for he can't tell a lot of colors apart. Yellows and greens, purples and blues, they are all too similar in his eyes. That’s something George is familiar with, though. He doesn't think much of it.

_ Snap. _

George’s eyes float back to the floor. His chest does something funny as his eyes dance over what's below him. 

Right under his foot is an arrow.

_ No,  _ he thinks.  _ That can’t be right… _

How- Is there just more than one arrow?

Something in the corner of his eye catches his vision, but when he looks up expecting an animal. His eyes are back on the stranger.

George's poor heart isn't going to last at this rate.

The stranger in a yellow jacket is merely sitting on a stump a little ways away from George, and he seems scarily calm. He isn't breathing heavily like George is, his hands aren’t shaking like George’s are.

He isn’t afraid.  _ George is. _

The stranger looks up from something in his hand, tilting his head to the side. “Ah,” he says simply. With a smooth motion, he jumps up from his seat, and begins to make his way over. 

At that, George gets ready to  _ book it. _

Too bad the stranger seems to notice.

“Are you  _ done? _ ” George takes note he sounds tired. He doesn't know why, but it seems to be something that jumps out at him when the man speaks. 

He doesn't realize he needs to respond until the man gives him a pointed look. Now, maybe here this would be the part where he would be able to say something  _ cool  _ or  _ witty, _ but the only thing he manages to say is, “ _ Uh-“ _

The stranger sighs, his hands fitting into his pockets. “Listen, you shouldn’t be here. Why did you come back?”

_ I- _

“I didn’t.”

Now at that, the stranger seems interested, as interested looking someone can be when they have a mask on. He almost sprints over, and George really had miscalculated how close he was to him, judging by the point-five-seconds he had to even react.

The stranger grabs his shoulders, and George can only freeze. “ _ What did you just say?” _

Again.

George is a reasonable person.

However, at this very moment,  _ nothing is really reasonable, is it? _

His voice comes out hoarse and quiet, but he's too nervous to care, really. “I-I didn’t come back, I walked in one direction-“

The stranger lets go of him roughly, and throws his hands in the air. His mouth shoots open, and George was half expecting him to yell at him, but the moment passes quickly. He doesn't realize how tense the stranger is until his shoulders sag, his head hanging low. He mumbles something, and even though George strains his ears, he couldn’t catch what was said. The noise of the trees dancing in the wind, and of water in the distance overwhelms the strangers' whispered words.

Licking his dry lips, he says in a quiet voice, “...say again?”

He steels himself for something brash aimed at him, but all George hears is a gentle, “Did you walk in one direction?” He sounds sad almost, saying that. George isn't sure exactly why.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding with his words. “One direction.”

The doesn't seem to be the right answer. The man doesnt say anything, but he doesn't seem like he liked what George said. Looking up, the stranger seems to look over him, his head tracing out George's form. 

George expects the man to say something more, but instead-

He starts walking. George can only stare. “Where are you going?” The stranger doesn't say anything, only continues walking. “ _ Hey!” _

Before he can think, George finds himself running to the stranger, walking stride in stride with him. The stranger doesnt look up, merely continues on walking. “You shouldn’t have come here,” is all he says.

He sounds upset when he says that, his voice slightly hoarse. If George wasn’t paying attention, he might not have heard it at all.

But that doesn’t seem extremely important at the moment, what  _ is  _ important is the single question that's been on his mind ever since he stepped on that arrow:

“Why can’t I  _ leave?” _

_ This  _ is what stops the stranger, surprisingly enough. He turns his head ever so slightly, his shoulders tense once more. The man opens his mouth, closes it, and seems to think about what he’s going to say.

“Why are you here?” 

“I just-,” he starts, but he closes his mouth.  _ I came out here because it was my last day out in this stupid forest and I wanted to find what was apparently hidden up here, but now I dont.  _ George bites his tongue, and rearranges his words. “I was looking for something.”

The man laughs. “Yeah, right. I hear that a lot.” He keeps walking, and George tags along right behind him, stepping over branches and twigs. “Let me guess, you’re here for the  _ monster?” _

George gasps quietly. “Is it  _ real?” _

This awards him more laughing. “No, stupid. It’s not.” 

George frowns at that, and doesn’t ask again. “Where are we going?”

“You ask a lot of questions, you know,”

“ _ Well,” _ he says, his arms flying upwards. “I need answers!” 

The stranger only laughs again, and yet…

Even though he's laughing it sounds sad. George adds that to his growing list of questions. He  _ does  _ need answers, he really does. He wants to leave but for some reason  _ can’t,  _ he wants to go home but he can’t  _ leave,  _ he wants to know what's going on-

_ But his questions are being left unanswered. _

They walk in silence.

Once or twice, George hears something out in the woods sending his heart into panic mode, but every time the stranger never flinches. He just keeps walking.

It's almost pitch black, and it's getting hard and harder for George to see, he's barely able to follow the man in front of him anymore. There are more cool breezes than before, and no matter how hard he pulls his windbreaker around himself, George is still cold.

“Hey,” he calls after who knows how long, George has lost track at this point. “Where are we going?”

“You already asked that.”

“I  _ know,  _ I know, but I feel like I’m putting too much trust into someone who I’ve  _ just met in the middle of a bloody forest.”  _

A few more twigs snap. “Don’t worry, we’re almost there anyway.”

George's eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. “Almost  _ where? _ You’ve been avoiding all of my questions, and I have no idea what's going on so it’d be very helpful if you’d just-“

“We’re here.”

George shuts up, and looks ahead.

A cabin stands in the forest, dim lights swinging out onto the dark forest around them. Now with a small light, the forest truly feels like its pitch black. He can’t even see any sky or stars, which is odd sense he's in the middle of nowhere.

But, this is it. The only thing he can see for miles and miles and miles. A small cabin, one that supposedly belongs to a stranger.

Speaking of said stranger, as soon as George is back on Earth he realizes that the man has already begun walking to the cabin. George has followed him all the way out here, and yet.

He feels uneasy.

He hears a voice from far ahead. “Not coming anymore?”

George doesn't say anything to that. He just does something that's easy for him to do.

He puts one foot in front of the other.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ill try to update at least once a week, but the first few chapters are definitely going to be the shortest out of all of the chapter’s I post.
> 
> Thank you :)


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Already 100 hits?????? and a ton of kudos??????
> 
> That’s,,,,,, that’s insane,,,,,,,,
> 
> I’m glad everyone likes the story so far!
> 
> I’m going to start writing longer chapters after this one, so expect longer chapters and fewer updates. I’ll always post at least once a week, but I’m not sure how long it’ll take me to write each chapter...
> 
> anyway
> 
> I hope you all enjoy :)
> 
> Thanks!

George is a reasonable person, he thinks.

He’s able to keep his life together in his own small home in the UK, he has a stable income for the most part, and he knows how to respond to most situations in a timely manner.

He doesn’t yell, nor scream, he just moves. In most situations of course, he’s fine. In most situations, there's an invisible guide in everyone’s head that makes sense to them, and them alone. This is the guide that everyone follows in new situations. George has one of those guides, too, like everyone else in the world.

George is a reasonable person.

But.

Being lost in the forest isn’t reasonable. Running in one direction and finding yourself in the exact same place you were running from isn’t reasonable. A person living alone in the middle of a supposedly empty forest isn’t reasonable. George deciding to follow this stranger to a place he’s never been to before and asking to come back out alive _is most definitely not reasonable._

George… George used to think he was a reasonable person. 

As he watches the stranger make instant noodles from a stool by a countertop, George is starting to think he isnt as smart nor as reasonable as he believed he was.

He’s gotten himself a bite perhaps a little too big for him to chew.

The cabin where the man led him wasn’t as… well, George supposes that rundown wasn’t exactly the words he was looking for, but he most definitely wasn’t expecting a homely little cabin, much like the one he was in. It's the bare basics of what anyone would need for a quick get away. There’s a kitchen with black countertops, a general living room-esk area, and two rooms, one which is most likely a bathroom, George assumes. 

The entrance is small, just a hallway with an area to put shoes or maybe umbrellas, but both him and the stranger kept theirs on. The two doors to the rooms sit quietly and unopened in the hall, which George is surprisingly thankful for.

Besides. Who knows what could be in there.

For the most part, him and the stranger stay quiet. No one tries to start a conversation, the only thing that fills George's ears are the sounds of boiling water. The occasional twig snaps in the distance, and every time it sends George into a slight panic. The man laughs, every time too.

It’s a strange silence. To be honest, George is just too scared to start one. A conversation that is. 

George doesn’t realize he’s tapping his fingers against the countertop until the stranger taps his knuckles with the back of a wooden ladle. “You’re fine you know. There’s no need for that.”

Reasonably, he might be right. 

But George has been having doubts that he’s really that reasonable. He sits up slighlty. “Why should I trust that, exactly?” 

If the stranger didn’t have his mask on, he would probably have his eyebrows raised. “ _Well,_ ” he starts. “If I _really_ wanted you to be harmed in anyway…” 

He gently places his hand on his mask, like that means something.

Like that means something bad.

“ _I would have seen to it already.”_

Shivers run up and down George's spine, and the countertop suddenly seems interesting. He can still feel a pair of eyes on the top of his head. But, its not the mans eyes that make him shrink back, no.

Its how cold the air feels. 

Its how _scared_ those words made him feel.

_Its how dangerous George realizes this man really could be._

Gentle chuckles make his eyes snap back up. The man is staring at the water, a hand covering his mouth. He glances over in Georges direction, and full on laughs in his face.

George is offended, to say the least.

_“What?”_

His only answer is more laughs. The man has a hand on his stomache, now, laughing his whole heart out. George swears he can hear him _try_ to make words, but it only comes out as random nonsense. 

“Your-“ More laugher. “Your _face!”_

Unconsciously, George's hands fly up to his face. The man only laughs harder at that. 

For a while, George didn't know what to do.

Then he started to laugh, too. Really, for being a stranger to George, he sure had a contagious laugh.

“S-Sorry,” he says eventually. “Aw man, works _every time.”_

Another question added to his list. “...Every time?”

The man, _wow George should ask for a name,_ with a few giggles in his words answers his question. “You weren’t the only person to come all the way out here.” He goes back to handling the food, leaning against the cabinets on the other side of the counter. “This is America, there’s a lot of crazy people out here. Since there tends to be a lot of… dangerous animals out here, I usually take back whoever looks lost.” He turns his head over towards George. “You looked pretty lost.”

“I was _not,_ I literally walked in one direction here, so that meant I only had to walk in one direction back.” The man stops stops looking at him. “...right?”

Silence.

“There are some thing in this world that we’ll never understand,” is what he says, simply. “Nothing no normal person would, anyway.” 

George finds himself tilting his head to the side slightly. “Uh, whats that supposed to mean?” The man shrugs.

“Oh,” he says, his head flying back up. The man turns his head to George, and points a finger at him. “Got a name, sir?”

George’s eyes widen, slightly. “George,” he states. “My name is George.” He eyes the man, and learns forward. “Alright, now what’s _your_ name?”

The man chuckles, a grin slowly growing on his face. “Why should I tell you my name? You could be trying to rob me for all I care.”

A smile grows on George’s face. “What do you mean, you could be doing that to me!”

“ _What?”_ He drags out the word, making it way longer than necessary. “ _No,_ I would _never.”_

George _tsk’ s_ quietly, turning his head to look out into the dark woods. “Yeah, right.”

More silence follows, but this time it’s comfortable. George doesn’t mind it. This is the kind of silence that always follows a pleasant conversation.

It’s a nice contrast to his day.

“Dream.”

George’s brow rises, slightly. “...Dream?” The man, _Dream,_ nods. “That’s your _name?”_

A smile played on Georges lips, and he expected to hear laughter, maybe a chuckle or too, yet. He hears nothing. The smile on his lips fades.

Dream didn’t laugh at that. He sighs. “I don’t remember my name, actually.” A smile appears on his face, but George has enough experience with fake smiles to know that it’s only a facade. Dream isn’t actually happy, not really.

“I had one, but I just-“ He brings a hand to his head. “Can’t seem to remember it. Like, I _know_ it’s there, I _know_ that my name isn’t Dream, but I just.” Dream makes a little movement with his hands. “It slipped my memory I guess.”

George nods along to his words, even though Dream probably can’t see it anyway. There’s something about how Dream phrased his words, how every word was carefully picked that stands out to him. How Dream said each one sadly, almost _disappointed-_

There’s more to this story than he’s letting on. And George lets it be. Some stories in this world aren’t meant to be shared out loud, some are meant to be kept away, hidden. He can’t help but think that this might be one of those stories. 

George doesn’t mind, though.

Dream places a bowl in front of him, a savory and salty smell wafting up from it. “Sorry ‘bout the ramen, it’s the fastest thing I could make. I haven’t been out for a week or so.”

George shrugs, a smile making its way onto his face. “Thanks for the food. You know,” he says, taking a bite of the ramen. It’s salty, but it tastes delicious in his empty stomach. “I think that’s around the time I first got here. To the cabin, at least.” 

Dream freezes again, but it only lasts a moment. He continues to rummage around the fridge, and it surprises George that there’s electricity all the way out here. For him, his cabin was closer to civilization, but out here…

Well. Lets just say its not a short walk.

Dream hums, his hands tracing over the contents of the fridge. “Is that so?”

“Yeah.” George thinks back to all the times something odd happens, and he starts counting. “A lot of weird things happened too. I kept finding trees missing and new logs really close to my cabin, entire boulders would appear some days, disappear the next, snapped branches high in the trees would fall randomly, just. Weird stuff.”

George looks back up from his food, and his stomache drops. Dream is standing right in front of him, shoulders tight, poster stiff. He swallows audibly, and George can’t help but note he’s trembling slightly. “...Dream?”

“What else happened?”

George doesn’t say anything for a moment. He musters up the courage when Dream tilts his head. “Uh, just.” Memories start to come back to him, and his eyes widen. “My power would go out.” Goeroges lights had gone out randomly one night, so he slept it off.

“I would hear things at night.” He had a only assumed that they where animals, which _did_ scare him, but he knew he was safe in his cabin.

“I’d see things out of the corner of my eyes and turn to nothing.” This happened only twice. He thought he had seen something large far in the forest, and turned to only see forest for miles. Where he stayed, the trees weren’t as thick.

...but out here, they were.

George’s hands start to shake. “I’d wake up to weird sounds, I thought I saw a dog or something once, and…”

He pauses. This was the one thing he had actually thought about.

The one thing that scared him.

He looks up to Dream, who seems as spooked as he is. _“I never heard any animals,”_ he whispers.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. 

Dream opened his mouth to say something-

Then George couldn’t see. 

Which was odd, because the lights where just on. His hands automatically move to the counter to help him stand when he feels hands on his shoulders. In his head he _knows_ it’s Dream, but he still flinches.

“Sorry, sorry,” he hears Dream whisper. “Get down. _Now.”_

George doesn't hesitate.

He more falls to the ground than anything, but he doesn’t care. George presses himself as low as he can, even when he cant anymore he still feels like this _isn’t enough._

Foot steps echo around the cabin. “Stay,” Dream whispers, quieter than before. His steps are slow, and George can hear noise from the kitchen, but even he cant make out whats happening.

Geogres heart thunders in his ears, and his hands over his mouth aren’t enough to block out the sound of his ragged breaths. Everything seems too loud, too dark, too _much-_

There a gentle _click,_ and the room is illuminated by a small, dim light. Dream sits on the floor next to him, hands carfully dancing around a small flame on a lantern. “Its okay,” he whispers. “You’re alright.”

With a few curses, he finally manages to get the lanterns light to grow, the room more visible for George to see. He sits up quietly, and brings his legs to his chest.

It takes him a moment to calm his heart. Dream sends him a few glances, like hes asking _why,_ but says nothing.

Dream sends him one more look, and places a hand on his shoulder. He gets up, and places the lantern on a small coffee table. “You can sleep on the couch if you’d like. I trust you not to take anything, so. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

George nods, and doesn’t realize he misses Dream's presence until he hears the door down the hall shut.

How odd. That he misses a stranger.

George doesn't linger on the thought. Slowly, he makes his way over to the couch, setting himself down gently. It's comfier than it looks, he supposes. But he doesn't mind if his back hurts, or if it's a little cold.

He just lets his head fall back, and he rests.

...It’s hard to do that with a head full of questions. He learns that the hard way. 

* * *

The morning was uneventful. The only intresting thing was that Dream came back after George had woken up. He was covered in dirt, and dismissed it as taking a walk a little too fast. 

George doesn't feel like that was the case, but he doesn't press the matter.

The walk back to the dirt path George took to get up here was surpisingly short, but maybe it was because he was laughing at Dream the whole time.

Maybe it was because they kept talking about random things that didn’t quite make sense.

Maybe it was becasue he was having _fun._

George isn't sure.

Eventually, after a cold, maybe long, definitely light hearted walk, Dream and George find themselves back at where they first saw each other. Dream chuckles, and leads him down a different path. “This is how you get back,” he had said.

Down a slightly steep hill, behind a great wall of trees, another path sits. George didn’t realize that Dream had stopped walking until he only heard his lone footsteps. George turns his head, looking over his shoulder.

Behind him, Dream sits on a stump. George turns fully to him, and he feels somewhat sad.

“This is it?” Dream nods, and George cant help but notice that he too, looks sad.

“I guess so.”

Silence.

“See ya, George,” he says with a grin. 

George smiles. “Bye, Dream.”

They didn’t wave bye to each other.

Slowly, George walked on. 

One foot in front of the other. 

And slowly slowly slowly, he began to make his way out of the forest.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Slowly

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


slowly

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


slowly.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When his eyes wandered back up to his path after a long while and he had saw Dream looking right back at him,

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


That’s when George

no longer

believed that

he was a

reasonable 

person.

  
  
  
  



	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I-
> 
> Ive been gone for like, four days.
> 
> How??? Has the hits and kudos quadrupled???? how??????
> 
> I can’t thank you all enough!! I’m not sure Ill be able to update as much as I wish to, but always expect at least an update a week :)
> 
> Thank you all so much!!
> 
> Edit: Ive gone back and fixed a ton of spelling errors, if there’s anything else wrong with this chapter dont be afraid to leave a comment about it! :)

The world is strange.

This is something that George has thought about many times before, late at night and early in the mornings. Sometimes, he even thinks about that when he's at work, when George’s fingers dance agilely over a keyboard carefully, his mind barely keeping up. There are some things that he might never understand, like how complex one single person can be, or how big infinite really is. George has wholeheartedly accepted the fact that,  _ yes, _ there are some things too strange for even  _ him _ to understand.

George has always thought reasonably about this idea of complex concepts in the world. Always always always.

But.

He supposes that maybe, the world is a little more stranger than he thought it was.

Maybe Dream would have a clue to how strange the world is. With pale skin, and trembling hands, maybe he would know.

Or maybe not. 

As George watches him stumble over, almost tripping once or twice, he thinks that. Just maybe.

Maybe no one really knows how strange the world can ever be.

That doesn’t matter right now, though.

Does it?

Dream freezes in front of George, his poster stiff. Ridged.

Scarily familiar to the night before.

George isn't as scared as he was, but he thinks that maybe he should be. There’s something he doesn't quite know yet, and it’s something  _ important. _

He wonders why Dream won’t tell him the small little factor.

_ “Please,”  _ Dream says in a voice laced with dread. “ _ Please  _ tell me you turned around yourself.” His hands snake their way up to Georges shoulders, and he finds himself in a tight  _ tight  _ grip. “You turned around, yeah?”

George's heart speeds up a little bit. With the slightest shake of his head, the grip grows a little tighter. “ _ No,  _ no, George, please you  _ cannot be joking right now.” _

The mask on Dream's face makes it hard for George to see his expression, but there's a part of him that knows that Dream won’t look anything but afraid.

Georges heart begins to speed up. “Ok, ok wait— I walked in  _ one direction,”  _ George says tightly, his chest constricting at Dreams' own panic. “ _ One direction, Dream.  _ How am I back?”

Dream says nothing. The grip on his shoulders starts to hurt.

“Dream,  _ what the hell does this mean?” _

_ Silence. _

Dreams opens his mouth, closes it. Opens it again, only to close it again. George is at a loss for words. But above all-

He's  _ scared. _

Georges heart is going a mile minute in his chest, and his fingers are trembling, and he’s just a little out of breath-

Because there’s something wrong.

There is something  _ wrong wrong wrong. _

Dream gives his shoulders a squeeze before letting his hands fall to his sides. “George.” Dream points a finger over his shoulder. “Try again.”

George looks at Dream partly in confusion, but nods. He treads slowly at first, but eventually brings his pace up to a light jog.

After a long while with branches snapping under his feet, gravel being kicked out of his way, the wind being just a tad too cold for George-

He finds himself looking at Dream again. Right back where he first was beforehand. 

George’s eyes widen, his feet moving back automatically. George can’t quite tell Dream’s expression, but the tight line over his mouth says it all.

It's getting hard to breathe.

“No, no, no, no,  _ no,”  _ Dream whispers, his hands covering his mouth. “ _ This can’t be happening.” _

George can only stare in horror, his head tilting to the side. “What?  _ What  _ can’t be happening, Dream?”

Dream’s head tilts downward, and his hands holding still in front of him. 

George realizes blatantly that they’re shaking.

“...Dream?”

Dream’s head snaps back up to Georges, gasping quietly. His head flies around wildly,  _ like he's looking for something,  _ before sprinting over to George and wrapping his hand around Georges forearm.

“We are leaving.  _ Now.”  _

George doesn’t ask why, this time.

He’s past trying to ask questions anymore.

The only thing George can hear after that is the ringing in his ears, the sound of crunching under his feet, and Dream’s as well as his own labored breathing.

* * *

Once they had finally made it back to the cabin, Dream had practically sent George flying across the floor, shutting the door so hard behind them George was sure that something had broke. They were both out of breath, George more so than Dream. Sharp pricks of nothing fill his chest, George’s throat dry. He can barely catch his breath on the floor, and Dream was in a somewhat similar state somewhere in front of him by the door. 

George’s hands have stopped shaking by now, but. Eyeing Dream from the floor, George realizes that his have not.

George knows something is wrong. There’s something he’s not supposed to know, something he wasn’t supposed to see.

Something he wasn’t supposed to do.

_ Walk this far into the forest,  _ his mind whispers. 

Wherever George heard that there was something in the forest, whoever had happened to tell him the simple little string of words.

  
  
  
  


He realizes with a small pang of dread that they were right.

  
  
  
  


At first, George hadn't even realized it, but the quiet sound of pittering and patterning against the windows seems louder now, joining the now calmed breaths from the tired pair. George stays on the floor, and doesn’t quite move to get up yet. He can hear Dream slide down the side of a wall, a loud sigh following.

It's the shuttering inhale that makes him look up.

Sitting up now, George can only watch as Dreams breathing starts to waver. Slowing up, then speeding down. His head rests on his knees, in a small, tight ball on the floor next to the entrance.

It makes George’s heart hurt. It makes his heart hurt in a way unfamiliar to him.

He doesn’t know how to feel about it.

George scoots a little closer to Dream, close enough to where he was within reaching distance. He taps his foot against Dream’s boot, trying to catch his attention. George almost tried to catch his eyes, but, the mask. “Hey,” he says gently. “You okay?”

Dream’s head moves up slightly, like he’s looking at George, and moves it back down with a bark of laughter.

This too, is not a happy laugh. It's bitter. It's  _ fake. _

Dream gives him a long, long look, long enough to make George slightly uncomfortable. There’s a certain intensity under that mask that Dream wears, hidden to the world. The moment passes, and Dream's head falls back to his knees. Another laugh, one as equally bitter and dry follows that. 

George is left to stare, confused.

...That’s when George gets a long, good look at Dream’s face. He’s surprised he didn’t realize the small, faint freckles across his skin, or the fact that his face is lightly round. What surprises him the most is the fact he has dark, dirty blonde hair.

Dream has blonde hair.

_ And George is just now realizing that. _

A few giggles slip past his lips, his hands shooting up to try to muffle his little outburst. Dream looks up, and his hair fumbles around on his head, and for some weird  _ goddamn reason George starts laughing.  _ Not a laugh from his gut, but a laugh that makes his eyes crinkle, one that makes even Dream confused. As he laughs, Dream’s lips pull back slightly, revealing a nice, small smile.

“What?” A few more giggles join Georges. “ _ What?” _

George calms slightly, but he’s still laughing at himself. He thinks it’s silly to be laughing at something so small, yet. 

internally, George thinks that they both need a laugh.

George lets out a few more tame chuckles, and locks eyes with the eyes on Dream’s mask. He lifts up a finger accusingly, his body shifting back. “You have  _ blonde hair.” _

Dream tilts his head, with small nods littered about the action. “Uh, yeah?”

George lets his eyes wander to the floor, a smile plastered on his face. “I didn’t realize.”

Dream goes silent for a few moments. When he starts laughing too, George is glad he wasn’t the only one who thought it was even just a little bit funny. 

An odd kind of comfort, really.

They both go back to that silence, the king of silence that feels comfortable. 

George knows it's not supposed to last long, anyway. But he enjoys it while he can.

Outside, the rain beats down on the roof with an unreadable rhythm, changing every second, every moment. It’s nice to listen to. Better than listening to nothing, or to the lonely wind when George used to keep his windows open in the mornings at the small cabin.

He wonders how many times he heard something, only to forget about it.

He wonders how many times he could have been… well. Hurt? Killed? He isn't sure.

But.

George wonders how many times he almost had an  _ encounter _ .

The thought sends shivers down his spine, and makes him shudder. 

Dream hasn’t changed position, his head still laying on his knees. George moves his legs, folding them neatly underneath himself as he drags in a long breath.

...It’s about time he has his list of questions answered.

Isn’t it?

George licks his lips, relieving his irritated skin. He inhales one more time, and lets out a tired, tired sigh. 

In the back of his head, he has a faint feeling that he’s not going to like the answer he’s going to get. 

“Dream?”

Dream turns his head. Now facing George, he seems so  _ tired.  _ Whatever visible skin seems pale, the freckles looking impossibly dark against his skin. His mouth is open with a small frown, his body still curled in a small, small ball.

He seems…

Hm. George doesn't know the word he's looking for.

“I’m assuming you want to know about what’s going on,” Dream almost mumbles. His words are slurred, quiet. A stark contrast to how he was acting the night before. He had seemed confident, in control, albeit a little anxious. But, George can’t blame him for that. He was just as anxious as Dream was, really.

George nods curtly. Dream sighs at that.

“Well,” he starts. “Let’s start off with the basics. Why did you come here? Or, really, that’s not what I should be asking.”

Dream traces the outside of his mask, and he’s whispering, yet George feels like he could hear what he says from a hundred miles away, every single sentence resonating within him. 

George  _ knows  _ he has a mask on, and yet.

There’s a weight to Dream’s words, as he begins to answer his long list of questions. A certain intensity to the look he's receiving. 

He doesn't know what to think about it. 

“I shouldn’t be asking about why you’re here, I can already guess. You heard from around that there’s something up in the woods, correct? A monster, maybe?”

George nods once more. “The monster part just. Made sense in my head.”

A dry laugh. “Yeah, there's a rumor that there’s a monster up here, too,” Dream says. “But that ones been around for so long, I was beginning to think it was me.” 

George winces at that. He can’t imagine what it’d be like to be called a  _ monster.  _ He supposes the closest thing he can get to that is when random classmates would poke fun at him for not being able to see certain colors.

It didn’t happen often, but,  _ God.  _ It sucked.

Dream nods. “Yeah.” He sounds tired. “Not fun.”

A short pause.

“Ha, that wasn’t so bad as it sounds. I tried not to think real hard on it, but. Young me had a hard time with it.” George nods sadly. He can’t help but notice the quiet fragileness in Dreams voice, like it can crack at any moment. Slowly, he picks himself up, and deposits himself next to Dream. Their shoulders brush now, but neither of them comment on it.

George isn’t too great with comforting people, but. He knows that  _ contact  _ is enough for some. At the way Dream relaxes slightly, George can safely assume that Dream happens to be one of those people.

Dream continues, quieter than before. “Anyway…”

He pauses, almost like he's lost in thought before continuing again. “At these rumors, well. Like kids and crazy people do, they began to explore the forest, Searching, searching, searching…” He laughs bitterly. “Many of them didn’t even know what they were looking for. As I got older, I began to help them out.” Dream sits up, arching his hand over the rest of the hall. “I’d lead them here, and I’d give them a place to rest before they would go out upon their day, me as their guide back to civilization.”

...George looks back to Dream.

Small tear drops drip out from under his mask, wet spots forming on his legs. 

“One day-“ Dream curses at the waver in his voice. “One day,” he tries again with a calm voice. “One day, a young boy had come. He was little, real young, I’d say like maybe nine or ten. I’m not sure exactly, but.”

There's a smile.

Small small small tears form in George’s own eyes at just  _ how broken it looks. _ Dream laughs, but it's broken broken  _ broken. _

_ Sad. _

_ Bitter. _

**_Defeated._ **

  
  


“ _ I couldn’t save him.”  _ The tears flow harder now, accompanied by a whimper or two. George’s eyes snap down to the floor, tracing every object, but not quite looking at it. “I tried to save him, but—“

A pause.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Another deep breath.

Sigh on the exhale.

“I wasn’t fast enough.”

With these words, too, there's an unspoken weight that George can’t quite identify. Unlike everything else Dream has said, there’s something about how he phrases everything. Like there’s something  _ more. _

But. with these words...

George knows he will truly never hear this story in its truest form.

Dream pulls his arms tighter around himself, his head dips a little lower. “That was a long time ago, too. I was, what, maybe seventeen then. It plagued me for a long, long time. The kid got attacked.” Dream lets out a quiet whimper at his own words. “People started to come less after that.” His shoulders tense up even more so than they already were. “They called it a ‘freak accident’. Called it a bear attack.”

George shudders at the memory of his own bear encounter. It was only for a few seconds, but he felt like he was going to  _ die.  _ The damn thing easily four times larger than he is, and for a young boy to-

“It wasn’t a bear attack.”

...George turns back to Dream. Dream’s sitting up now, his hands sitting in his lap. “...What?”

Dream turns toward him, the lights down the hall reflecting off his mask faintly. 

Something is off about him.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. “...There’s a reason for the rumors you’ve heard.”

George’s blood goes  _ cold cold cold.  _ His chest hurts faintly, and his hands are shaking now. His hands aren’t shaking because he's scared, no. George is  _ terrified  _ at the implications of that sentece,  _ of what the fuck that means. _

A gentle hand makes his way to his shoulder, and squeezes gently. George looks over to see Dream resting his hand against him, his mask faced towards the floor.

There are words forcing their way out of his throat before he even realizes it. “ _ What does that mean? What are you talking about?”  _ The words come out quickly, some of the words blending together. There’s a waver in his voice, and it cracked here and there, but.

_ It doesn’t matter right now. _

Dream stares forward, his hand moving back to his lap. He opens his mouth, closes it. Suddenly, he slowly moves into a straight posture. Ridged, stiff.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, he brings a trembling hand up.

George can only stare.

As it rises,

rises,

rises.

He doesn't know what this  _ means— _

But, of course it must mean something important.

Yet.

George has got a feeling that whatever is about to happen,  _ it won’t be good. _

Dream’s hand rests on the mask. His breath is uneven, on some inhales he sounds like he’s  _ gasping. _

Something is off.

Something is wrong.

And George is considering running, now. 

_ This isn’t real, you can get away,  _ his mind tells him.  _ You should run run run.  _ But George doesn't know  _ why  _ his head is chanting that at him, or  _ why  _ the fact Dream has a shaking hand on his mask scares him but—

_ He knows that something is wrong.  _

The air feels cold. This doesn’t feel right. Dream looks pale, a few drops of sweat falling down his face—

Dream turns to him. He’s trembling too, and his mouth is in a tight tight line on his face, and his breath is just as uneven as George’s is.

Dream chokes, and manages to spit out one thing:

And it sounds broken broken  _ broken. _

  
  
  
  


_ “I’m sorry.” _

  
  
  
  
  


Time seems to move in slow motion, then. 

His fingers grip tightly on the mask, his arm moving up slightly,

and once his arm comes down—

George is already out the door.

He’s running.

He’s running into the forest.

It hurts him to think that this is just like last time. Twigs snapping under him, colors flying past him in a blur, rain beating down in his face, figures passing him quickly. But.

That isn’t what hurts him the most right now. In the back of George’s head, that isn’t what's hurting him the most.

Is it?

As George flees though the forest, not even daring to throw a glance over his shoulder, he thinks back on the past day. The craziest 24 hours of his life, really.

And yet.

They were nice.

As George thinks back on the last 24 hours, albeit it they  _ were  _ slightly horrifying…

It was nice.

A nice contrast to his rather ordinary life. Back home, a lot of the day was the same. It was black and white most of the weeks, his few friends making the days colorful.

Yet.

The last day was so  _ colorful,  _ so  _ different,  _ George can’t help but feel  _ hurt. _

Because here he is, running away from a stranger he was starting to trust. Running away from color, running away from something finally finally  _ new,  _ and with every step, every broken breath, George can only think about running back.

Whatever was about to happen was most definitely not going to be good for him, and the fact that Dream was going to  _ do  _ something to him—

Well.

It leaves more than a bitter taste in his mouth.

More than an empty feeling.

The cold morning air leaves his face feeling slightly numb. George can already tell that his face will be permanently stained red (Or so he’s told when his skin is cold), and the white hot feeling in his chest and legs is starting to come back again.

Unlike last time, he lets himself slow down.

“God this is  _ stupid,”  _ he spits. A hot kindling fire goes in George's chest, growing large. It makes an ugly feeling appear, something that makes him feel horrible, yet. It sort of relieves him in some way. 

The feelings swarm in his chest, making him _ rage,  _ a feeling George absolutely  _ hates,  _ but…

When he thinks back to yesterday night, the feeling dies with a sigh. What replaces that is two feelings. One is small, another ugly feeling,  _ regret _ , and the other is blue.

The blue feeling in his chest hurts in a fragile sort of way.

George’s footsteps slowly shrink smaller and smaller, until he isn’t even walking any more. Unconsciously, he finds himself looking up.

One foot in front of the other, that's something that doesn't seem as easy to him anymore.

In his head, George knows that one more step would mean turning his back on Dream, and most likely dying in a forest that he isn't familiar with at  _ all. _

The sky is barely awake, only a few gentle lights flowing down from the thicket of the trees, the rain distorting it slightly. 

Blue.

Such a pretty color.

A gentle breeze sends the light flying everywhere around him, splotches and sun stained grass is sent into a spiral of different hues, before everything goes back to how it looked before.

Reminds him of what felt like years ago now, when he was staring at everything he could see. It's insane to think that was only yesterday. The scenery is still pretty, there's still splotches of color that catches his eyes here and there. The rain is disappearing now, leaving the sky a little brighter. 

It’s nice.

George can only sigh at his decision. Thinking back, maybe the air wasn’t as cold as he thought it was. Maybe, just maybe, George was just.

Overthinking.

A sigh escapes his lips, and he lets his eyes fall shut.

Whatever sunlight that manages to reach George feels nice. Surprisingly warm, too.

For a moment, he lets his mind wander.

There’s a river, somewhere in the distance, the sound of running water jumping across rocks quietly filling his ears. Closer, the sound of the branches from the trees above slowly rock against each other, a quiet white noise. 

For a moment, George lets himself  _ breathe. _

  
  


Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

  
  
  


All is calm.

All is quiet.

Somewhere in between the noise, the white noise and calm George very much needed, a snapped twig echos around him. It stands out like a dark stain on something white.

His heart doesn’t jump like before, in fact, he doesn’t even open his eyes this time. It’s probably Dream, anyway.

_ Snap. _

“Sorry,” he says quietly. George’s eyes open to a bright sky, but not to Dream’s confident, and boisterous voice.

He only hears the water, and the wind.

George turns towards the new sound. 

“I think it's just been a rough 24 hours, I’ sorry for—“

And just like before.

Georges heart stops.

At first, he didn’t believe what he was seeing. Maybe his mind was pulling something on him, or maybe George was just  _ that  _ freaked out, but, after a long minute of staring.

_ His heart only slowed more. _

George isn’t sure when, but he's pretty sure his stomach was gone, too.

As the tree’s were thick here, it was hard to see far into the woods. But, in the distance, far far far back on the obvious path that he’s walked,

like when he first saw Dream, so long ago,

behind a tree easily three times larger than he was,

barely even visible,

_ there sits a large, large, claw. _

And like before, he's faintly aware of his hands shaking, his body trembling, but.

This time.

_ ‘There’s a reason for the rumors you’ve heard.’ _

...this time George isn’t sure if he’ll get away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops :)


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I probably wont be able to post again until the end of the week, but I hope everyone enjoys these chapters :)
> 
> ALSO!!! I have received some wonderful fan art from FallingToast! (etchy-a-sketchy on Tumblr!) Please go check them out and give them some love, for these are both banger art works :’)
> 
> https://etchy-a-sketchy.tumblr.com/post/630460205056081920/compass-chapter-1-outofink-video-blogging
> 
> https://etchy-a-sketchy.tumblr.com/post/630459927215865856/compass-chapter-1-outofink-video-blogging
> 
> these are both awesome, I strongly encourage you all to take a look at them :) If anyone else wants to send me anything, send me a message on discord! My name there is OutOfInk#6609 :)))
> 
> Again, thank you all for giving this a read!  
> (And extra special thank you to FallingToast for the art :) )

Now, regardless of whether George was reasonable or not, one thing that he doesn’t like to believe in sometimes is luck. Luck is something that can never be changed, something that will never be the same every time an action is taken. It’s inconsistent, really.

Maybe that's why he hates it. Don’t get George wrong, there have been some times where he gets lucky, where he's found  _ great  _ deals that he had just happened to catch his eyes out when he needs to buy something, or when he luckily guesses what code needs to be fixed in a program for it to work. 

He appreciates luck, he  _ really _ does, but.

Sometimes, George relies too much on it.

Sometimes, he needs too much of it.

Sometimes, he wishes he didn’t know what luck is, just so he can give himself  _ hope,  _ instead of wishing for a statistic in the world that most times never works in his favor. 

Right now, this is one of those moments where he  _ knows  _ that he's relying too much on luck. Maybe it was when he first walked into the forest that made him cocky, or maybe it was when he saw the bear, or Dream oh so long ago. George can’t seem to remember.

But.

Right now.

...Luck is the one thing he absolutely  _ needs. _

George is frozen.

Dread sits in a pit in his stomach like lead, heavy heavy heavy,  _ too heavy,  _ leaving him feeling drained, and anxious. His chest is a little too empty for his liking, and he’s half aware of the way everything becomes faint for a second or two, and everything is  _ too much at the moment— _

Then his world goes pear shaped.

Luck is something he really needs right now.

He’s instantly aware of something wrapped around his body, trapping his arms, and George finds himself kicking and scratching, and  _ trying to escape— _

But he  _ can’t. _

Blindly, he reaches out in a state of panic, only to have his hands pinned down beside his head. With a wave of fear, he plants his feet on whatever is on top of him, and  _ kicks— _

For a moment he’s free, before the thing is back on him again. He opens his mouth to  _ yell, scream,  _ do  _ something,  _ but a hand claps down on his hand, and now  _ he really think he’s going to die— _

Another hand is placed on his shoulder, and somehow in between his internal panic, and the sound of high pitched ringing in his ears, George can barely make out words. 

He needs luck right now.

A factor in the world that almost never works out for his side of the situation, but when the words, “ _ Quiet, please,”  _ make it to his ears loud and clear, George swears that right then and there he practically  _ sobs.  _

Maybe he should stop disliking luck so much. 

The weight in his stomach lessens, but not by much. It's enough, though, for George to recognize the smiley-face mask above his head looking,  _ Searching,  _ his mind corrects, for something in the distance. It's enough for him to recognize the mop of curly dark blonde hair. It's enough for George to recognize the stranger he met what feels like too long ago.

The dread is lifted, just enough for George to recognize that Dream is here.

Dream slowly moves off of him, his arm hovering over George’s form as his head moves sporadically. George moves to sit up as well, but he’s roughly pushed down by Dream, holding a finger to his mask. Dream’s words come back to him, with the help of the silent gesture of  _ don’t talk. _

He nods, but it's small and uncertain. George’s hands are shaking, and his ears and nose are too cold for his liking, but he manages to keep his breathing under control, staring up at Dream’s form above him.

It's like before, he’s looking, but he’s not exactly taking in what he’s seeing.

But thats okay.

George doesn’t think he wants to.

Another branch snaps, and Geogre can’t tell if his heart is beating too fast for him to even notice it, or if it's even beating at all anymore. He feels sick, there’s a hole in his chest, and everything is going  _ numb. _

His hands grip tightly on his shoulders, trying to stop the mist from making him shiver, but— He just. 

He almost  _ can’t. _

Another one of Dream’s hands snakes it’s way behind his head, the other gripping his shoulder. Dream leans directly over him now, so he can't really see, but he can still turn his head towards the—

Mistake.

Turning his head was a mistake. 

Mistake mistake mistake mistake  _ mistake mistake mistake.  _

Far in the woods but closer than George remembered sits  _ something.  _

Something large.

Dangerous.

But.

It's not a bear, Geogre quietly notes. For a moment, the colors and shapes he sees blurs together slightly, for a moment he feels like he's falling falling  _ falling. _

George is a reasonable person. Or, he was.

Reasonably, he shouldn’t be in this situation.

But.

As he can only stare back at the thing far from them,  _ too close for George,  _ a memory comes back. 

Oh.

Right.

George isn’t so reasonable anymore, is he?

George can’t even make out much of what he sees, maybe it's because his vision is swimming, or because he feels too sick for what should be considered healthy, but all he can see is a thick, dark coat, and something shining in whatever sunlight there is.

He thinks it's crouching, or maybe sitting, but after a few seconds more, something bitter starts to make its way up to his throat, and he can only shut his eyes and swallow the bile back down his throat.

George shoves his head back to Dream’s from, shaking violently. 

This is too much.

  
  
  


Too much.

  
  
  
  
  


Too much.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Too much.

  
  
  


It's getting hard to breath again.

Dream squeezes gently, and barely even whispers to him, “ _ A moment more.” _

He can’t even nod.

He hopes Dream understands him when he grabs onto his wrist, his hand shaking almost uncontrollably at this point.

After that.

George can’t remember much.

He’s faintly aware of something breaking.

Of his body being moved.

Of someone calling his name.

  
  
  
  


It's odd.

  
  
  
  
  


Because none of this is reasonable.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


George shouldn’t have come here.

  
  
  
  


He should have stayed back home.

  
  


Should have stayed with the days filled with black and white.

To the days where he could stay safe.

To where there were no monsters.

No masks.

Just.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Normal things. 

  
  
  


George finds himself wanting to go  _ home. _

* * *

For a long while, he doesn’t know where he is.

There’s a nice smell in the air, savory and salty,  _ But not ramen,  _ George notes. He’s warm, bundled in something soft and thick. Against windows, loud sheets of rain bounce off the glass, and the sound of shaking trees and howling winds fills his ears gently. It's all muffled, but he can still hear vegetation getting doused in rain water. 

It’s nice.

George doesn’t exactly know where he is, yet. He finds himself relaxing. His mind tries to wander, yet, George can't quite make anything out very well. It’s like he's underwater, almost. Everything is slightly muffled to him, a little blurry. He can try to focus as much as he wants to, but he feels like he’ll never make out what his head is trying to tell him.

...his own words sound like static to him. Slowly, George tries to sit up, but winces at the sharp feeling that ricochets in his head. He decides against the idea, and stays on the… 

Couch.

Slowly, George opens his eyes. Above him, wooden planks stare right back down at him. A light coming from somewhere behind his head, leaving the room he is in dark, yet visible.

The dark colored couch,  _ George thinks it’s brown,  _ seems oddly familiar.

The sound of quiet humming reaches his ears.

A low voice is singing it, and the tune gives George a feeling of nostalgia. Like he’s heard this from somewhere before. 

It makes him remember memories that he’s never had, from long long ago. Bittersweet feelings rise in his chest, and really, George isn't sure whether or not he should be smiling. Maybe he should be crying.

Instead, he just listens.

The low voice singing the song isn't perfect, there's a few dips in his voice that seem unintentional, and there's a crack or two on some of the notes too low for the voice to sing, but. It’s nice.

The voice is far from him, and it's slightly hard to hear some of the notes from the rain, but. George doesn’t really care.

For a while, George isn't sure how long, the voice keeps singing. Keeps singing in that quiet, quiet, quiet tone. And he continues to listen, and continues to hold still. 

The sharp feeling had come back awhile ago, but the humming helps, if only a little bit. 

...George can’t help but notice the voice is oddly familiar.

Hm.

...He’s forgetting something, isn't he?

George isn't sure why, but. By thinking that, small blurs come into focus. Small actions, a mask, a jacket of yellow—

_ Oh. _

...George remembers now.

Behind him, that’s Dream humming, isn’t it? And this is his cabin, his couch. Isn't it?

George forces himself to sit up, forcing his way through the pain of daggers in his head, both his hands unconsciously flying up to his head. The pain makes it hard for him to focus, but he's able to push through it. It's not enough to make him double over in pain, but it's enough to give him a hard time to really  _ focus  _ on anything in particular.

He swings his legs over the cushions, planting his feet on the floor, and resting his elbows on his legs, cradling his head in his hands. He whimpers slightly at the pain, gripping his dark hair in his hands tightly.

_ God,  _ this sucks.

The humming stops, and padding feet join the sound of the rain, the wind, the noise of outside. 

The footsteps stop close to him, and there's a hand on his back. When he flinches at it, the memory of  _ why  _ he had left coming back to him, the touch disappears. The hand doesn’t come back.

Dream sighs. “Hey,” he starts quietly. “You doing okay?”

George doesn't say anything. Dream takes this as an invitation to continue, no louder than before. “I think you passed out. I looked over you earlier and you seemed fine, so.” George nods. That seems just about right. The headache must be a fine little gift that his body decided to give to him.

How fun.

Dream waits for him to say something, but. George really doesn’t feel like talking.

At all.

Dream must notice this. Dream grunts, perhaps getting up from a squat, and moves past him. George sends him a quick and small glance, and finds him sitting on the floor on the opposite end of the couch, leaning his back against it.

He turns his head towards George, then looks back to the floor.

“...So, stranger,” he starts. “You want to hear a story?”

Pain forgotten, Geogre looks at Dream with wide eyes. It's the phrasing, it's the words he chooses that really makes it feel like that this is  _ important. _

George finds himself nodding. The pain comes back, and his hands come back to try to sooth his pain, his fingers massaging his temples. Dream laughs quietly at that. He pulls out a small bottle, and it rattles when it's placed by him. George reaches for it, and he’s barely able to make out the words on it. He looks to Dream, confused.

“Pain killers,” he says. George makes work and opens the bottle. He goes to take the pills, but he stops mid motion. Sending Dream a sheepish look, he asks, “Can I get some water, please?” His own voice sounds something much like gravel, and he blushes slightly at that.

When Dream hands him a glass, after he’s taken the pills, George realizes how dry his throat really is.

But.

After Dream moves back to his spot, and he utters one sentence, George finds himself way too interested for him to care. He tucks his legs under himself neatly on the couch, propping his throbbing head up with an arm.

“Those rumors aren’t all just random. As you saw,” Dream says, and George can't help but feel queasy at the memory of… earlier? Yesterday? George isn't really sure. “there are more… interesting things here than only bears.”

Dream looks to the ceiling, mulling over his words.

George is going to be here, for a while he realizes.

But.

He doesn’t mind.

“So,” he starts. “Here’s how it goes: Long ago, I’m not sure how long, a strange phenomenon started to occur here in this forest.” Another pause. “Reports began to come into the local cabin renting business about strange things happening. Weird noises, seeing things in the forest.” George’s eyes widen slightly, and Dream turns to look at him. “Sounds familiar, huh? Yeah.” Dream looks back to the floor. “You weren’t the only one.”

George only nods. Dream continues at the motion. “At first, the reports were dismissed. Everyone just thought that the reports weren't very special, and many dismissed them. They all thought the same thing. They had thought that maybe an animal that the reporter didn't quite recognize made the noises or something, things like that.” 

The rain gets a little louder outside.

“Then an odd thing happened.” Again, Dream pauses. And for a moment, George thought that he wouldn’t even continue at all. But. Dream turns his head to look ahead, and George thinks that he’s doing what George does sometimes. Looking, but not quite  _ seeing. _

“It was a nice day for once, when an odd report came into town. The sun was even out, with the exception of a few clouds here and there.” A bitter laugh. “Funny coincidence. But, that day. A report came in of someone who had disappeared in the words.” 

George’s heart skips a beat.

“So, what do normal people do when someone goes missing?  _ Why,  _ they sent out a search party.”

Dream just stares ahead. “When they found not just one, not two, but _ three bodies?” _

George’s mind goes  _ blank blank blank at that. _

_ “ _ Well,” Dream whispers bitterly. “Lets just say that the small little cabin company didn't last for much longer after that.”

Pain forgotten, George starts spewing out words unwillingly, fear flowing, coursing through him. “Wait, then  _ why could I rent a cabin?” _

Dream shrugs. “Don't worry, this was a  _ really  _ long time ago. That little company disappeared a few decades back. When a new one had come in, it was a family I think. A dad and his three boys if I remember correctly.” He knocks his knuckles against a carpet under the couch, and George can audibly hear wood underneath it. “They got rid of all the cabin’s over here, destroyed most of them. This old one was fixed up by someone before me by the time I had found it.”

  
  


_ ‘Before I had found it.’  _ Instead of letting this question make its way onto his list, George quietly asks, “When you found it. Where do you fit in this narrative, then?”

Silence.

There’s been a lot of that recently.

“...Well. Like I said. There’s a reason for those rumors.” Another pause. Dream brings his legs up to his chest, and George shifts slightly when Dream puts his hand on the mask.

George doesn’t know what that means quite yet, but. He might just find out. “George,” Dream says. “There are some things in this world that will never make sense, no matter how hard you think about it, no matter how much logic, reasoning, or intelligence you have. Some things are just.” He taps on the mask, the noise echoing slightly. “Meant to not be understood.”

George thinks in silence. Goes over Dream’s words. “Ok,” he says. “...Where are you going with this?”

Dream audibly gulps, and answers with a shaky smile. “The things you’re hearing, the things that are happening, why you can’t leave, the thing that you  _ saw.” _

Now, Dream has a mask on, but when he turns to look at George, and George looks back with wide wide eyes, in that one single moment—

George swears that they both felt the same feeling.

_ Dread. _

_ “That’s all from the thing in the woods.”  _

George takes in a breath, shaky and uncertain. “What thing in the woods?  _ What thing in the woods?” _

It goes quiet. “Long ago,” Dream starts.

He opens his mouth to continue but George cuts him off. “ _ No,  _ no no no you keep ignoring my questions, Dream, what does this  _ mean?” _

George’s chest is a little too empty, and his chest rises irregularly, and he's trembling now, but. Dream says nothing.

After a moment, he continues. “Long ago,” he repeats, much to Georges dismay, “Somewhere in the world, I’m not sure where, there was a man. This man had a secret that his family had kept hidden for years and years on end.”

George lets himself fall back against the couch trying to relax his stiff shoulders. He isn’t able to, but he lets his eyes shut close. Dream continues quietly. “This secret, if it were to get out, would cost them their safety from others who shared it.”

George opens his mouth, but once Dream continues he closes it. “What’s the secret you ask? Well.” Dream gets up, and lets his hands fall into the pockets of his yellow jacket.

George wonders why he’s just noticing the color of his jacket. The hue seems a little funny, but, it’s still piss yellow. He would laugh, but. George finds that he  _ can’t. _

Dream’s words seem to catch in his throat, and he stutters quietly, and he can’t quite seem to get the words out of his mouth. He’s shaking slightly, George realizes.

But after a moment, Dream stops shaking.

Sighs.

“...the man, when exposed to certain circumstances, would turn into, well.” He turns to the window behind the couch, staring at the downfall of rain upon the cabin. George suspects that if he didn’t have a mask on, Dream would be eyeing him. “I suppose you could call it a  _ monster.” _

At first, George doesn’t react.

He thinks about the statement, but he doesn’t say anything at first. For he is resealable, George is reasonable, and in a reasonable world there are no monsters, there is no creepy forests with beasts in it, no, none of that is  _ reasonable- _

But.

Really.

...George isn’t as reasonable as he thought he was. 

With a shaky and quiet voice, he asks, “What are the implications of that statement?”

George notices faintly that Dream doesn’t seem as… afraid anymore. His hands aren’t shaking, nor is he trembling. Dream seems…

Calm, George supposes the word is. Collected.

“I’m  _ implying,”  _ Dream says, his hands moving with his voice, “That whatever you saw? Yeah.” His hands fit back into the yellow pockets on his jacket. “What you saw is what you would call a  _ monster.” _

George’s eyes go wide. “Oh.”

Dream nods. “Yeah.”

George… doesn’t know what to make of that. Dream seems to notice, and elaborates. “Essentially, these people are like werewolves, they can stay in human form, but eventually change at one point or another. I think they used to be called  _ ‘The Altered’  _ or something of the like.”

“...oh.”

“Yeah.”

Silence. George wants to ask a question, one that he almost didn’t want to ask at all. But for his sake,

He asks the question.

“...How dangerous exactly  _ are  _ these… Altered?”

At that Dream goes quiet.

At that, Dream’s hands start to shake.

At that, his body goes back to trembling.

The reaction says it all. “How dangerous,” George says quietly. It sounds more like a statement more than anything, he knows he’s going to have his question answered either way.

Dream doesn’t say anything. What he does do, however, is pull his jacket off, revealing a black tank top underneath it, and brings his arms in front of George.

Even from far away, George would’ve been able to see them.

All across Dream's arms are  _ scars.  _

All different sizes, lengths, and shapes. Some of the most notable ones are the three long dragged lines starting at what looks like the back of his shoulder, ending all the way at his forearm. Surrounding that are different shapes and hues of skin, different shapes that the scar tissue takes, lumps, and dips in Dream’s slightly sunkissed skin. Just from staring at one or two spots of inflamed skin makes George’s stomach  _ swim. _

He reaches out, and looks to Dream. He nods and brings his arms closer to George, letting George reach out slowly. His finger barely glances off of the skin, but he brings his hand back like it was burned, recoiling at the texture. “What….”

Dream reaches back for his jacket. “The Altered are a dangerous force.” He moves to sit next to George on the couch, and grips his shoulders tightly. “Listen to me. George, you absolutely  _ cannot  _ leave like what you did earlier, alright? This isn’t some joke, you just saw what it has done to me. Understand?”

George gulps. 

The memory of why he left comes back again. Why he ran, why he even  _ saw  _ the Altered. A question sits on top of his tongue, and, really.

He doesn't want any more questions on his list.

“Dream, what were you going to do before I ran?”

Dream shifts back, moving his hands into his lap, his head facing forward. There's something about how Dream carries himself, about how his mouth sits in a tight frown that tells George that he doesn’t like what he’s going to hear.

A sigh from Dream. “There’s one more part to the story.”

George tilts his head, but Dream doesn’t notice the movement. He only curls in on himself. “A long time ago,” he starts once more. “There was a boy.”

George’s eyebrows scrunch up as he stares at Dream’s form. “He used to live in a city by the ocean, bright, and safe.” His shoulders drop, and he lets a hand trace his mask.  _ A nervous habit,  _ George realizes. “But, one day, a long long time ago.” Dream looks at George with  _ tears  _ dripping down his face. A small pang hurts George's heart. “He was taken to a place far far away. And in that place, he was left.” Dream looks back towards the floor. “And in that place, he found a forest.”

George's heart stops.

“In that forest he found a cabin.”

A pause.

“And in the small little cabin he found in the creepy old woods where the monsters sleep,” Dream stands up, his head facing the ceiling. He opens his mouth to say something, but he must think better of it, and closes it. “There in the woods, he found a small cabin and called it  _ home.”  _ He taps the smiley face. “And there, he felt  _ safe.” _

“...Safe?” George wouldn't call this place safe. Dream doesn't elaborate.  _ Unfinished story,  _ he supposes. He also realizes that Dream didn't even answer his question, but he doesn't care. This is a part of the answer. But there's still something he's  _ missing.  _

The way Dream phrases what he says points towards an invisible story. There’s something  _ more,  _ something that George doesn’t know yet. A story in between the lines of the novel. 

Then. 

Something dawns on George. A question. One question that hasn’t been answered that always sits in the back of his mind, one he hasn’t thought about asking until now. Right now, there’s one thing he  _ needs _ to know.

“Dream?”

“Hm?”

“Why do you wear that mask?”

A pause.

“That’s a story for another day, George.”


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *puts gently on table*
> 
> This was supposed to be longer but I want my chapter lengths to be consistent, so. Here you go! Early chapter! Thanks to everyone who is deciding to leave kudos/comments/hits, you all mean the world to me!
> 
> Not much happens in his chapter, but I hope you all enjoy it anyway :)
> 
> thank you!!

As Dream walks into the room down the hallway, the words  _ ‘Yell if you need me,’  _ floating around in his head, George finds himself thinking. 

Taking in what he’s heard.

Processing.

The most prominent thing about that entire ordeal is that George is missing something. That much is obvious, from the vague answers he had gotten from Dream. Instead of getting an  _ actual  _ explanation to what is going on, George only received little tied bits of an unfinished story. As the rain pours against the window, George thinks.

And thinks.

And thinks.

To why Dream has that mask, to why— or,  _ how  _ he has been managing to stay here for so long in a monsters den supposedly, or-

A crackle of light interrupts his thoughts, thunder echoing through the mountains. The room he’s in lights up quickly, before it's all snuffed out by the rest of the storm. It all happened in a moment, barely even in the time he needs to blink. Unsurprisingly, he flinches at the light, but his heart clams easily.

For as long as George has been here for,  _ which isn't very long,  _ he notes, George has been scared. Always on edge, trying to be careful. Reasonable.

As the night goes on with a hundred different questions flying through his head, George never manages to feel tired. He only grows more and more awake as the night grows darker. It's strange for him to stay up like this now, he’s finally gotten used to the time zone after all.

But.

Unlike all things here, that’s reasonable. George chuckles under his breath, and opens his eyes to stare at the ceiling. After a long while, he starts to count. There are twenty five wood planks on the ceiling, three dark spots, and two holes. The color is odd to him, but George supposes that’s just how it's supposed to look, to him anyway. George gets over the counting quickly, though. 

He only sighs, and leans back farther into the couch. 

At first, George was surprised by how comfy he was getting in this little cabin in the woods. When he first walked in he was anxious of course, but. Now.

It makes him feel a little safe. A place he's marked as a resting point in his head.

George isn't sure what to make of that. He decides to drop the thought. 

Besides the rain, and the little whispers coming from the small lantern Dream left on the countertop that barely even makes the room visible anymore, it's quiet.

George thinks that the rain makes the night a little more bearable. Because usually, George falls asleep on calls with friends from halfway around the world, or with his dear cat. But, here.

He has no one.

He's alone. 

...George’s heart seems to hurt, after he realizes that. He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. After a few more moments staring at the ceiling, he decides on throwing his arm over his eyes. This doesn’t make a difference to him vision wise, it's not like he can see any less, really. 

But.

He wishes he could.

He doesn't notice how empty his chest feels until he starts to focus on the little pin pricks in his heart, the ones that make him feel  _ off _ . George doesn’t panic at the feeling, this is one he’s felt before. One he’s felt when he wishes his closer friends had only lived closer.

George smiles at the memories flowing back, of endless calls, and timeless weeks lasting what feels like only hours. One night when two of his closer friends (Their names are Sapnap, and BadBoyHalo, two people he has known for a  _ long  _ long time) had happened to share a night off, they had all stayed up until the sun came back up.

As George smiles, he  _ knows  _ he should feel happy at the great memory, or at least feel something happy spark in his chest, yet, the only thing he feels is something that leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

...George misses them, he realizes. Misses his friends. 

It's when he realizes that he left his phone in his windbreaker the feeling goes away.

George smiles, and swings his legs over the couch, his eyes wandering around for the blue jacket he had decided to bring with him the day that everything went wrong. It's a gift he had gotten from long ago, something George considers important. 

His quiet padding footsteps join the noise of the rain, wind, and everything in between as he makes his way next to the door. And, yes, right  _ there,  _ next to the door, his jacket sits neatly folded on top of a small box, twigs poking out from under it.  _ Fire wood?  _

There isn't a fireplace anywhere, but he doesn’t question the box of wood. Who knows what it’s useful for.

George makes his way down the hall, but once Dream’s room comes into view, he finds himself slowing down unconsciously. George isn't sure why his heart seems to speed up a little bit in his chest, nor why he feels like he’s out of breath, nor why it’s suddenly  _ scary  _ passing by a door, yet. Here he is. Standing a few paces back from Dream’s door, his hands shaking slightly.

Steeling himself, he slowly begins to pass by.

It’s like he can’t hear, for a moment. Which would have concerned George if he had noticed his hearing cut out, but he was focusing too hard on the passing door.

And for a moment.

George freezes when he impossibly hears movement over the high pitched noise in his ears from the inside.

For a moment.

His heart beats too fast for him to even count its beats.

For a moment.

From within the room,

_ George swears he hears something move. _

His eyes instantly flash to the door knob, and he freezes on the spot, his legs glued to the floor. Sweat trickles down the back of his neck, and his hands feel a little clammy.

Internally, he wonders what's behind that door.

He doesn't think he wants to find out. 

That could range from a hundred different things, all of which would probably be bad for him. After a moment more, he doesn’t hear anything else from within the room, and George lets out the largest sigh he can without making too much noise.

Really, maybe he’s top jumpy for his own good.

George looks back to his windbreaker, grabbing it delicately between his fingers, rubbing the soft cloth in his hands. The light blue color has never worn out for as long as he has had it for, which is a nice little gift on its own. Like the color, the inside has lasted just as long surprising, the fabric still soft against his slender fingers.

He turns triumphantly down the hall.

George pads questly past Dream’s door once more, less anxious, but just as careful.

Just as he passes the counter, his nerves finally let up.

“Hey.”

—And then George is immediately flying through the air, a loud yelp escaping his lips as he turns quickly,  _ not so elegantly,  _ to the voice. Across from George somehow in the kitchen, Dream stares right back at him. George notes with curiosity that the white porcelain mask still sits neatly upon his face, but he tries to ignore the fact.

Having questions here isn’t really good for the reasonable side of him, even though George is sure that that side of his brain is slowly dying, or something. With a hand on his chest, he shoots Dream a glare, the latter grinning right back at George.

“Sorry,” he whispers with a wide grin. “I have a bad sleep schedule, so if you’re going to stay here for a while you better get used to it now.”

George sighs, his heart finally calming down under his shaky fingers. “My heart isn't going to last very much longer…”

“Your what?”

_ Oh, did I say that out loud? _

George’s expression must say it all because Dream just chuckles, and George is surprised by how nice it sounds. He tucks that fact into the useless knowledge file, and thinks nothing more of it.

Dream opens a random drawer, fueling the small fire inside of the lamp on the counter while he’s in the kitchen. He sends George a look, and motions to the chair. At first, he didn't understand the notion, then Dream gave him a pointed look.

Well. As pointed of a look you can give someone when you have a mask on.

George pads softly over to the chair, his windbreaker still in his hands, and sits on a stool. Dream seems to nod in satisfaction, and lets his hands move agilely around glasses, or maybe ceramic by the sounds of it. George can’t tell.

“So your heart,” Dream starts. “It’s not going to last, is that what you said?  _ What,  _ got the hots for me?” George stares for a moment, before a hot blush makes its way down his neck, and Dream laughs loudly. 

“ _ No.”  _ At his response, Dream only laughs more. George smiles timidly, and this situation feels oddly familiar. Dream laughing as George can only sit and watch, hopelessly trying to figure out what’s so funny.

He feels like this is going to become something of a routine.

“Whatever you say,  _ George.”  _ Dream draws out his name, singing it like some kind of songbird, and it brings out a few chuckles from Georges throat.

“Oh, whatever.” Dream sends him a look before walking over to a fridge. 

“ _ Oh, whatever,”  _ he mocks, mimicking his accent.  _ Some kind of song bird indeed.  _ “I’m assuming you aren’t from around here?”

George nods, and once he looks back up to Dream’s back, he almost laughs. “Nope,” he clarifies. “The UK, actually.”

Dream hums, walking back with two cups of water. He holds a cup out for George, and he takes it graciously. “Yeah, I thought so. I was wondering for a while, but. Y’know.”

“No time to ask?”

“Well, I mean, yeah,” he says, tripping over his words. “I just keep forgetting.” George laughs, having some of the cool drink in his hands. He doesn’t know why Dream had thrown ice in it, George is sure that either way it would’ve been cold. “ _ Hey,  _ don't laugh. I have a lot of friends from the UK, I’m just used to hearing the accent.”

At that, George tilts his head. “Oh, really?” Dream nods. “Interesting.”

A smile makes its way onto Dream’s face. “Inch resting.” George’s own smile falls away, and stares with dead eyes at the eyes on the mask. 

Dream’s eyes must be there, because he visually flinches, and Geogre says in the most deadpan voice he can muster, “ _ No.” _

For a moment, he wonders if that was a mistake, because Dream doesn't react to him at all.

After exactly point-seven-seconds of thinking that, George finds himself watching Dream fall onto the floor, practically crying at what he said.

Ok, you know what, scratch that, maybe it would have been better if Dream didn’t react to him at all. “Dream,” he finds himself saying. “What— It wasn’t even that  _ funny. _ ”

And like everything George says is somehow ten times funnier, Dream just treats his words like the punchline to a joke and laughs harder, wheezing, and George gets concerned once he sounds like he’s coughing up his lungs. 

But of course, after a moment or two, George finds himself laughing just as much as Dream is. 

In the back of his head, he finds it odd how he can just…  _ click  _ with Dream, a supposed stranger he had met yesterday. It's odd to George, it truly is, but. He supposes it's just Dream’s personality that makes them click. George is oddly reminded of a coin.

They are like the same coin, just two different faces. But, as he watches Dream laugh his ass off on the floor, he laughs. Perhaps not the same coin.

Just. Similar, perhaps.

George can’t lie, Dream’s laugh is contagious. It's something that will catch you off guard, and you’d still laugh along to whatever joke you had missed. That’s the kind of feeling he gets from Dream. He didn't exactly get a good first impression, but he supposes that this makes up for it.

As Dream recovers from laughing,  _ finally,  _ he walks around and sits on a stool a little ways away from George, water cup in hand. Even after he has sat down, he’s still laughing, drunk off of euphoria probably, small laughs filling the air.

George doesn’t try to hide his smile. He’s thoroughly amused by the behavior, but it doesn’t seem bad to him. Maybe he  _ should  _ be a little concerned, but George doesn’t mind the light hearted atmosphere. It's a nice change of pace.

But really, anything is a nice change of pace as long as it has nothing to do with forests or monsters.

His face drops at the thought, and at Dream’s tilted head, he throws the idea out of his head completely. This isn’t the time to think about that, or rather, this isn't the time he wants to think about that at the moment. 

Dream looks at something other than George, and looks back up to him after a moment. “Whatcha got there?”

Confused, George looks down and  _ oh— _

In his lap sits the blue windbreaker. His eyes soften, and he lets his fingers run over the seams of the jacket. “A friend gave this to me a long time ago. It's a windbreaker.”

“Well, I know that much. The windbreaker part. Just wondering why you have it,” Dream says, his voice light.  _ Unlike a handful of hours ago.  _ George wonders how long it’s been since Dream has had some company. 

By the amount of dust on the random furniture in the main room of the cabin, George can assume not much.

“Well,” George starts. “I was expecting it to be cold when I came down here, so I decided to bring a jacket. Y’know, like  _ normal  _ people do.” Dream nods along before eyeing George suspiciously. 

“Wait, are you trying to make fun of me? You realize I wear the exact same hoodies like, everyday, right?”

George sighs, and while  _ yes,  _ he has seen Dream in a yellow jacket, he wouldn’t call that alone, ah,  _ appropriate  _ attire. “So what, you wear more than one yellow jacket? You better have something other than a thin ass hoodie.”

Dream tilts his head at George's words, seemingly lost. “Uh…  _ Yellow?” _

George squints his eyes. “Um,  _ yeah?  _ That’s yellow.” Dream looks down to the current hoodie he wears,and looks back up to George.

“Yeah, no, you haven’t gotten enough sleep recently.” He grabs the fabric, and brings it up slightly more into George’s vision. “This is  _ yellow?  _ Are you  _ sure?” _

WIth a bite in his words, he points at the jacket, and spits out, “ _ Yes, Dream. That there is—“ _

Then he stops. Because  _ oh, right,  _ he’s colorblind, for god’s sake. Dream nods his head, as if he were saying  _ go on… _

Geogre looks back up to Dream, and can only sigh. “...Is it green?”

Dream nods. “Yeah?”

George can only groan louder. Poor Dream only looks lost. George rolls his eyes. He looks to Dream, and points an index finger at his eyes. “I’m colorblind.”

Dream stares a little longer, and it must be because his brain is groggy because he doesn't seem to understand any of the words that George had just said to him, before he finally lets out a long,  _ ooooh. _

George can only roll his eyes in mock annoyance. When Dream opens his mouth, he expects maybe a joke, or something to make fun of him. What comes out instead is, “So you can’t see green?”

George looks back half surprised. Looking a little closer,  _ yes,  _ Dream isn’t lying by the curious look on his face. Geogre searches his face for any shape for a lie for a second more, before finally elaborating. “Yes,” he says, but he doesn't say it out of annoyance or bitterness like he has before to strangers. He says it simply because someone wants to  _ know.  _

It makes George's chest full, and warm. It's a nice feeling. “I can’t see greens or reds. I don’t remember  _ exactly  _ what kind of color blindness it's called, but i’m pretty sure it's called  _ ‘protan’  _ color blindness.”

Dream nods. “So… what does that mean?”

George thinks for a moment. Shrugs. “Just means I can’t see the colors green or red. So, greens look yellow to me, and I get confused between blues and purples. They look the same to me,” he says, pointing to his eyes and random colors that look similar to him. 

“Oh.” George looks back to Dream, slightly surprised by the sadness in his voice.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he says, and George was right, there's a kind of quietness in his voice that makes it seem fragile. “Don’t you wish you could see color?”

George only hums. After  _ really  _ thinking about it… “Well.” He pulls the jacket up for Dream to see. “If I can’t see greens or reds, I can’t see greens or reds. I can still see certain colors, like this,” he says, pointing to the blue jacket. “But I just can't see others.” He shrugs. “It's been like this my entire life, I don't exactly fully understand what you mean by ‘color’. Because to me,” he says, hugging the jacket close to himself. “This  _ is  _ color. So, I guess my answer is no. Because I still see color,” George says, looking back up to Dream. “Just. Differently.”

Dream seems taken aback by the response. The frown is off his face, but he seems more.. surprised than anything. Dream chuckles, grabbing his cup. “Huh, I guess so.”

George nods. “Yeah.”

“Sorry… for asking?”

Geogre takes a sip of his own water, and smiles. “I’m not sure, you took that pretty well. Usually people argue back with me.” At that, Dream’s face goes slightly dark, and George almost jumps at the sight, but he thinks better of doing so. Maybe it's the mask, but George definitely does  _ not  _ want to be on the bad side of Dream. “It's just,” he interrupts, trying to get Dream from probably  _ murdering _ strangers for George. “They don't really understand that I can never see what they see, so I don't feel like I’m missing out much? Like, it's sometimes annoying and such, but this is just me. There are still beautiful things, it's just slightly annoying when I need to be able to see color for certain things.”

Dream nods, then a grin breaks out onto his face. “I bet uno sucks for you.”

At this, George’s own head falls as memories upon memories of different games fill his head, many of them losses on his end. “Yeah it’s annoying alright, but it's fine. I can  _ sometimes  _ tell the difference between greens and yellows, but it's just really tricky.”

Dream hums, and it goes silent for a moment.

But, this is the kind of silence that they’re both okay with. The kind of silence that's comfortable, that always follows a pleasant conversation.

It's nice.

With a quiet,  _ oh,  _ George begins to rummage around his pockets. Dream looks over at the noise, tilting his head. “What are you doing now?”

“Looking.”

“For..?”

“Stuff.”

Dream throws his hands up, and says in an overly sarcastic voice, “ _ Oh,  _ yes, that’s so helpful! You are  _ looking  _ for  _ something,  _ yes, so helpful, I  _ totally  _ understand what you—“

“Okay you can shut up now.” Dream laughs, and George lets out a few giggles as well. “I’m looking for my phone.”

_ And one more thing… _

At first when he can’t find it, George thinks that he must’ve simply missed the pocket.

After another round of searching to come back empty handed, Geogre starts to panic…

After a third time, he throws on his jacket, and pats down his pockets hidden on the inside of his shirt where his phone usually stays. Nothing. “ _ Oh,  _ you have  _ got  _ to be kidding me…” 

“Don’t tell me—“

“Gone? Yeah,” he says, disappointed. “Seems like my phone is gone.” George lets out a long long sigh, and makes it a little longer once he realizes that he’s just thrown on his cold jacket over his dry shirt. The blue on his shirt darkens a few shades lower, looking very similar to his windbreaker.

He inhales.

Exhales.

And Dream starts laughing and wheezing once more. “Dream,  _ no.” _

But, of course, like Dream always does, he only laughs more. And, of course, like George always does, he finds himself quietly chuckling along to Dream’s laughter. “This is your fault,” he says, not out of spite, not really. More out of him wanting to offend Dream.

And, like expected, Dream lets out a gasp, and throws a hand over his heart. “ _ George,”  _ he fake cries. “How  _ could you?” _

Geogre snorts as he starts to look for the one other thing he has brought with him. Now, it's fine if his phone is gone, he could always painstaking try to save up for it again,  _ however…. _

This is something he should have left at the cabin. “Oh,” he realizes. “So. Uh. My stuff. At the cabin.”

The mood darkens. Dream loses the smile on his face, the laughing disappearing too. “Not sure. It'll still be there if I can get you out in time.”

“Hm. Alright.”

Neither of them add onto that. And honesty? George is kinda glad neither of them did, after he asked that.

Luckily, his hands land on something in his jacket. “Oh,  _ yes!”  _ Quickly, George pulls it out of his jacket, and throws it on over his face. Neatly on the edge of his nose sits a white pair of thick rimmed glasses, something he has had for a  _ very  _ long time. Dream stares at him, and the laughs and misses come back rather quickly. 

“You have  _ that  _ but not your  _ phone?” _

George opens his mouth to say something, but when nothing comes out, he laughs, saying, “Yeah!”

They both wheeze at that, Dream’s louder than Georges. “Are you  _ serious?” _

George is laughing too hard to even answer. Why did he grab the glasses to bring with him halfway across the world? He doesn't know! Does he want to know? Not particular! Does he have a clue as to why? Nope!

Maybe that's why it’s so funny to him. The fact that George literally has  _ no clue  _ as to why he brought the glasses with them, or how they even  _ survived  _ this long without breaking or disappearing. He just  _ laughs  _ and  _ laughs  _ at something considered absolutely humorless. Yet.

Here he is, laughing his ass off with Dream.

As the rain starts to rain a little less, and the room feels a little more bearable, and being in the forest seems a little less hard, that's when George knows.

That’s when he starts to suspect that maybe, just maybe.

Maybe he’ll make it out of this okay.

But. Really. Who knows. For now, though.

For now, George lets the time pass with Dream quickly, and he doesn’t even bother thinking about anything else.

For the first time in what feels like a long time, George feels  _ okay. _

  
  
  
  


Outside, the trees swing, the wind sings, and the rain falls.

Gently

gently 

gently.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took me 1 hour and 45 minutes to write, so you know what that means?
> 
> Higher wpm, more chapters during the week! 
> 
> Ill still have at least one update on either Friday, Sunday, or Saturday. 
> 
> Thank you! :)


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! so, i’ve been writing like nonstop, and I can now get chapters out in like an 1 hour and 30 minutes if I really wanted to. So, instead of lots of short chapters, ima try to make them even longer than usual, so maybe around 5k words now. I might totally change my mind and just, y’know. go back to regular chapter lengths, but it might just be better if I do this for now.
> 
> ALSO! OH MY GOD SO MANY KUDOS!! I absolutely adore all of your comments, you are all fantastic people :) I love responding to y’all, so don’t be afraid to leave something! Ill always respond to it :)
> 
> thank you to everyone who is leaving kudos/hits/and comments! its crazy to think that this story is getting a ton of love. i’m glad that everyone likes how this is turning out!
> 
> one more note:  
> I apologize for my inconsistencies, I know they can be annoying but sometimes I forget what i write :0
> 
> besides that,  
> thank you everyone!! :)
> 
> Edit: Ive gone back and fixed a ton of spelling errors, if there’s anything else wrong with this chapter, don't be afraid to leave a comment about it :)

After a long while, George's eyes slowly grew more tired as the long conversation went on and on. Not out of boredom, no, George wouldn’t have laughed as hard as he did if it was out of boredom. Wouldn’t have enjoyed Dreams and his talk so much if he was bored. Sleep had just happened to do what it always does, it simply took his consciousness away from him.

George knew he was bound to fall asleep eventually, but he hadn’t expected to pass out right there on the  _ goddamn stool. _

But of course, he had done so anyway. Because anything else would have been reasonable, but this forest, being simply  _ here  _ is anything but that.

George had woken up, not exactly tired, but not exactly well rested, with a thick gray blanket placed around his shoulders. One cup half filled with water sits on the table, and looking over the counter, in the sink sits another. When the small smile threatens to ghost over his mouth, he lets it come. 

Dim rays of light slow softly into the cabin, leaving small stains of sunlight scattered about the room. Now that the room is well lit,  _ and George isn't fearing for his life,  _ he lets his eyes wander around the room.

Of course, in front of one of the large windows on the wall sits the couch he has almost fallen asleep on, the one that's as comfy as a couch can get for someone trying to sleep. From past experience, George can confirm that, although it doesn't look the best, it’s a pretty comfy couch. Comfier than his are, anyway. 

In front of that, a low coffee table sits with random little cups littered about, and a small potted plant sitting in the middle. Under the small and rather homely table sits a rug, and George can’t really tell what color it is. He makes a note to try to remember to ask Dream about the rug, but, honestly, he’ll probably forget anyway.

And surprisingly enough, now that George can actually look around, there's another couch the same color of the one that he’s “slept” on, sitting directly across from him, a little farther than the table under another large window. There's another rocking chair pushed up in the corner of the room, too. 

A lot of chairs for one person. George figures it must just be a coincidence, and drops the thought. 

As his eyes wander over the room, George can’t help but realize everything feels quite  _ homely  _ to him. Like he’s at a relatives house, or something like that. 

It's odd.

George decides not to dwell on the thought.

For a while, he doesn't really try to get up and move. George is surprised by how his body aches, and how little pains are littered all over him, but he supposes it's just from… well. 

Everything.

George tucks his head into the crook of his arm on the counter, his fingers trailing over his hair as he lets his mind wander.

Really. It's not fair that he has such a long list of questions. A lot of them are questions he would have thought would have answered themselves eventually, but to no avail. Instead of getting answers to his questions, George only gets more and more questions. 

It's confusing to say the least. 

Speaking of questions, George wonders where Dream is. He hasn’t been up for very long, but by the looks of it, it seems like it's late morning now, maybe around noon ish. Or the sun is just unnaturally bright today, but George doubts that. He only sighs, and focuses on the soft chirps from birds outside, the quiet songs from maybe canaries, or sparrows.

It's strange to think that there's a monster roaming around the forest. At the thought, goosebumps travel up and down George’s arms, and he can’t help but sit up and look out the windows into the deep forest. 

Dream’s house seems to be in a spot where the trees aren’t as thick as the rest of the forest, as there's more light, and the forest seems oddly dark in the sun compared to the large radius of bright grass. It's yellow, but George is sure it's alive.

...He thinks.

Another question to the list.

Another loud sigh joins the bird song outside. 

_ Thud. _

George's head snaps towards the sound of a shutting door. At first, he thinks that he might’ve never even heard it in the first place for how quiet it becomes after that, but when he hears quiet padding from footsteps, his blood runs cold. His hands grip the counter top, and he can feel himself bristle at the footsteps.

A boot makes its way into his line of sight, and when he prepares to do something, he isn't sure what—

A smiley mask makes its way into George's vision, and the feeling is gone. Dream shoots him a smile, waving a hand. “Hey.”

George stares, slightly taken aback before waving back. His eyes catch at the stains of dirt all over Dreams yellow—  _ Green, he corrects—  _ jacket, George tilts his head. He hadn’t realized Dream had gone somewhere. 

Dream seems to understand the question before George can even ask it. “I was taking a walk,” he says rather quickly. George squints his eyes, and Dream says nothing.

Rather suspicious, he thinks. Really, George shouldn’t even be  _ thinking  _ about questions at this point, it’ll only make things worse for himself. “Ok,” he says instead of arguing. “I’ll believe you this time.”

Dream smiles, yet.

Something about it seems slightly off. Whatever George saw though is gone in an instant, before he can really think much of it. 

Odd.

Dream walks around the counter, walking strangely before sitting beside him. “So,” he starts. “How’s…” He doesn't say anything more, instead making a little hand gesture vaguely at George.

He laughs, and looks down at himself. George doesn’t look the best, and his clothes are a little messy, and—

Uh oh.

_ I don’t have any clothes,  _ he realizes stupidly.

“What? Are you good?” George groans, motioning down towards himself.

“I don’t have any more clothes.”

Dream stares at him for a moment, like he really doesn’t know what to do, before he results to what seems like his default reaction to everything that happens, which is laughing. This time it’s not the kind of laughing that makes George join and chuckle too, it's just the kind that makes him smile. “Yeah, erm.” Dream places a hand on his chin, staring off into space, his head facing the wall. “What can we do about that…”

_ Good question,  _ George quips. Not out loud of course, that would be embarrassing. But the more and more George talks back to Dream, the more fun it seems. That’s a dangerous force to have, to make people talk.

But Dream is just. Too contagious to not laugh along with him, to not joke with him, to not react like he does. It's an odd thing, George will admit that, but he doesn't think much of it.

It could be useful, he supposes. George doesn't know how, of course. 

Dream jumps up slightly, a quiet  _ oh!  _ escaping his mouth. “I think I have some old clothes you could borrow for now, I used to use them when I was younger. They’ve just been rotting away now in the back of my closet.”

George cringes. “I hope they haven't.”

“No— Well. I’m not sure actually, let's hope they aren’t though.” Dream points a hand at him. “You get what I mean, though.” 

At George’s nod, Dream hops neatly off of the chair, and looks around the room, then back to George. “Sorry for the dust.” His head tilts down slightly away from George. “Haven’t gotten too many visitors for a long time.”

George hums, acknowledging what Dream tells him. “How long, exactly?” It was a small thought that George had gotten the other night as well. It's strange to think someone like Dream, a supposed social butterfly would be able to be alone out here for so long. 

Dream looks at him, opens his mouth then closes it. George only sighs at that, he knows he's not gonna hear about  _ that _ anytime soon. But Dream continues anyway.  _ A lie, probably.  _ “I’ve been alone for about seven months now.”

George's own eyes snap up to the ones on Dream’s mask. Dream doesn't have a smile on his face at the statement, but George can feel the beginnings of one on his face.

Not at the being alone part, but the fact that Dream is being what sounds like  _ truthful.  _ It throws him for a loop, but he's able to keep his emotions tame.

A dozen more questions pop up at that statement, but George knows better than to ask them at this point. Like he's said before, having questions doesn't help anyone but his own insanity.

So, he lets some of them drop. George holds onto a few in the little folder in the back of his head, the one that's already overflowing with questions that might never be answered.

He needs to accept that really  _ really  _ soon. If he doesn’t, well. Who  _ knows  _ what will happen then.

Dream taps his boots against the floor, and Georges eyes continuously snap to the sound. His eyes are greeted by thick boots, the insides obviously outlined with what  _ seems  _ like soft fabric, the hue slightly yellow. Black pants sit tucked into the boots that reach about halfway up Dreams calf, slightly thick clamps holding the shoe onto him tightly. They look rather worn out, now that he has a good view of them, and George can’t help but wonder—

“You done looking at my feet now?”

George jumps back, staring at Dream. “Uh—“

“George, come on now. That’s kinda weird.”

“I was  _ not—“ _

Dream bursts out in laughter, wheezing like a kettle before George can even say anything. He's left to sit and stare. Like usual, of course.

The laughing fit doesn’t last long enough for George to start chuckling as well, but it  _ does  _ leave a small smile on his face. As soon as Dream stops laughing, he reaches a hand out and places it on George’s forearm, tugging him up from his seat. “What are you—“

“Come on, George!” George can only stumble right along with Dream, trying not to fall straight onto his ass in the process. He almost fails once or twice, and as soon as George and Dream is out the door, Dream lets his arm go. Dream waits a little ways away from him, his hands on his hips. George can only stare at him, his breath a little too fast for him. Dream tilts his head. “What, tired already?”

There's something more to his words. 

Now, with those words hides a  _ promise _ , he realizes. A promise that George is all too familiar with, one that he has made with his friends time and time again, one he has made at school, too—

With Dreams words comes the promise of a  _ competition. _

Now, George wouldn’t say he is the most competitive person around,  _ but,  _ he does like a good fight every once in a while. This is no different, and his heart is speeding up at the chance to prove Dream  _ wrong. _

Slowly he stands up straight, his chin held up high. A wide grin grows on Georges face, words already tumbling out of his mouth before he can really think about what he’s doing. “Of course not, I can out last  _ way  _ longer than you can, stamina wise, anyway.”

Is George wrong? Most definitely so, he isn't fit like the other is and Dream hasn’t been loligagging out in the middle of nowhere and gain nothing. Even under his hoodie, George can tell that he isn’t some stick bug. George supposes that's what happens when you live out in the middle of a forest. 

The sun lazily shines down on both of them, grins plastered on each other’s faces. There’s a quiet intensity floating between them, each waiting for the other to do  _ something.  _

At the moment, George doesn't really care what it is, he just wants to  _ win.  _ Dream seems to be thinking the same thing, his knees slightly bent in a ready position, prepared to go on the attack of whatever game of cat and mouse they're playing.

Now, the only question George has is who is the cat, and who is the mouse?

For a moment more, they kept their eyes locked together.

Then Dream was booking it, his back facing George, his form getting smaller and smaller by the minute. George can only yelp, and run right after him.

And so, the chase was on.

And  _ god,  _ for someone in a thick hoodie, this bastard was  _ quick. _

George can barely keep up with Dream, his body knocking against whatever branches and trees hang loud enough for him to hit him, small scratches appearing on his skin. Within a few moments, the white hot burn in George’s lungs and legs come back to haunt him, but he manages to push off the pain, his mind more set on getting closer to Dream.

Speaking of Dream.

He’s still a ways away from George, elegantly and agilely weaving his way through the underbrush, sending him a glance every once in a while. Whenever he looks back, George can only smile wider, and pick up his pace.

Colors fly by him in a blur, different shapes turning into new ones, random rays of light blinding him for a moment— The entire experience was  _ wild.  _ George doesn’t know why, but there's something about how the air flies through his hair, about how adrenaline runs through his blood that makes him feel so  _ light. _

With every pace that George advances on Dream, Dream escapes with two more added to the distance in between them, and it isn't strange for George to get competitive. It's rare, but he  _ does  _ get competitive, in these few rare times. But,  _ god,  _ tailing quickly behind Dreams trail makes him wish that he was more competitive.

It’d make life more fun, wouldn’t it?

Out of nowhere, Dream stumbles on what must have been a root or a rock, and he barely even slows his paces, but it's enough for George to  _ pounce.  _ He somehow manages to catch up to Dream, only a few inches away from grabbing him. When Dream looks back to stare him right in the eyes, he laughs in his face, and tries to speed up.

Too bad for him, George supposes.

George, in only a split second too, somehow manages to close in on Dream, and in that very split second—

He for some reason decides to literally pounce on him. 

George plants his feet into the ground, pushing himself as far as he can with the small amount of strength left in his aching legs, and somehow magnates to land on Dreams back.

He hollers, mostly out of victory and surprise. For a moment, George was high on euphoria, high on his  _ victory,  _ when everything goes pear shaped. Gravity seems to swap, and then everything aches, and then the world is still with Dream and him in a heap on the floor.

It was all too fast for George to even process what was going on. By the time he's still, his vision still swarms, everything spinning, spinning, spinning. George can only close his eyes, trying to will away the wave of dizziness. Vaguely, he's aware of someone wheezing violently near him, and when his legs are shoved and Dream jumps up from the ground, he can’t help but laugh a little bit, too.

“ _ God,”  _ Dream says, still wheezing and laughing. George was sure he had gotten up, as his voice was farther away than the last time George had checked. “What was  _ that?  _ Did you just fucking  _ jump on me?” _

George laughs harder at that, his chest light, and warm. “I  _ won!  _ That’s what happened!” 

Dream sighs, his voice farther now. “Yeah, yeah.” For a moment, he grows quiet, and George turns his head up to look at where the voice had come from. Far away from him, leaning against a tree, George can see Dream with his hands in his pockets, his vision upside down from the spot on the floor where he is still lying. “Alright,” Dream says with a sigh. “I’m feeling courteous today, so you get fifteen seconds.”

George squints his eyes. “... What?”

“Fifteen.”

Georges heart rate picks up. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Dream only smiles. “Fourteen.”

George throws himself up, half stumbling, but he manages to catch himself against a tree. “Thirteen,” Dream crows.

“Wait wait wait,” George said, taking a few steps in the opposite direction of Dream. “I don't know this forest well, so if you’re expecting me to run off,  _ don’t.” _

“I guess you’ll lose then,” is all he gets instead. “Twelve.”

George frantically looks around, his eyes flying in every different direction. He spins once or twice, and his eyes land on what looks like a dirt path.

“Eleven.” 

He stares at it for a moment before looking back to Dream. In his chest, Georges heart does something funny. 

Dream is staring right back at him, still leaning against the tree, and yet. 

How long has the air felt this cold for?

“Ten.”

Without even thinking, George sprints down the path. Unlike before, where he was laughing, and his chest was warm, and everything felt right—

This doesn't feel right.

The air is colder, Dream didn’t seem like himself for only a moment, and George’s chest isn’t so warm anymore. 

Something is wrong.

And he doesn’t know  _ what _ .

Branches wack George in the face, sharp thorns catching in his pants and there's the occasional few seconds where he fears for his life after he trips, but. After a long while, he thinks that  _ hey, maybe he’s just overreacting. _

Dream wouldn’t do anything to him.

...Would he?

George’s blood freezes at that. He runs a little faster, a little harder. No, no, Dream wouldn’t do anything to him. If he wanted to he would have done so already, wouldn’t he? George is right, isn’t he?

As the wind flies by, as the light grows dimmer, and as the air feels colder, colder, and even  _ colder,  _ maybe. Just maybe.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. 

Maybe. Coming out here was a horrible idea. George already thought that didn't he? Didn’t he already think that exact thought?

It's like his mind keeps repeating itself, George keeps finding the exact same thoughts resurfacing, the exact same ideas coming back to him. That this was a bad idea, that he isn’t reasonable anymore. George knows for a  _ fact _ that he’s reasonable, he  _ knows  _ he is, but—

Goerge isn’t even sure if renting out that stupid cabin was smart in the first place.

George throws a quick glance over his shoulder, and when his eyes catch on a yellow coat,

he seems to run a little faster without even realizing it. 

Runs a little harder, pushing past the white hot pain that comes with his sprints.

“Oh, George,” a maniac like voice calls from behind him. George doesn’t even turn at his name, he just keeps running harder.

He closes his eyes, just for a moment. He throws another glance over his shoulder.

_ And Dream is right there. _

There, a few inches behind him, Dream runs behind George practically right on his tail. And George can’t do anything but watch helplessly as Dream does the exact same thing that he decided to do only minutes before. Dream plants his feet into the floor, pushes off.

And everything is pear shaped once more. But this time, when George looks up, he isn't greeted with the top of the trees, no. He’s greeted by the front of a smiley face mask.

  
  
  


For a moment, George wonders if this is where he dies.

  
  
  
  


For a moment, it's dead silent, and George is scared  _ shitless. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Then Dream is laughing in his face.

It's loud, boisterous, and downright hysterical. Dream gives him another short look, and wheezes even  _ harder.  _ George can only stare, his hands shaking, his body aching, a white hot pain sitting on his legs and chest.

George doesn’t laugh with him this time.

Dream moves off of him, tucking his legs underneath him on the ground right next to George. He’s still laughing, and the air doesn’t feel as cold anymore, but George doesn’t feel any better.

He can only stare.

After a few more glances from Dream, his laughing starts to disappear. His smile falters, and he's left to stare right back at George’s shaking from. “Hey,” he says gently, his hands frozen between them. “Hey, are you okay? You hurt?”

George’s brow twists itself together. Looking at Dream's worried face, his body starts to slowly relax. George lets his head fall back, letting his eyes fall shut. For a moment it’s quiet.

When a hand makes its way to his shoulder, George instinctively flinches with a quiet gasp.

The look on Dream’s face from the action seems to say it all.

George pushes himself up, putting a little distance between them. Still sitting, when his back reaches a tree, he lets himself fall against it. Dream is still looking at him, hurt and a little bit of fear visible on his face. “George?” 

He winces at how quiet Dream’s voice is.

“Sorry,” he starts. “I just—“ George tries to explain what happened, but, in reality. He can’t. He doesn't know what came over him, or why he reacted like that, or why he's suddenly  _ scared. _

“I don't know what came over me,” is what he ends up with.

Dream nods, his hands working together in his lap. “Sorry. I probably took that a little too far.”

George hums.

But says nothing more.

Silence follows.

Really, George doesn't know what that  _ was.  _ He was fine literally moments before that, chasing Dream, laughing with him, but then…

Then everything wasn’t right. Something was off, Dream wasn’t an ally anymore, and he doesn’t know  _ why. _

A long time passes. George isn't able to think of anything, only random thoughts that seem to pass every few moments. A few new questions as well, but, no one can help him answer them.

Dream is still sitting on the ground in front of George, sweat dripping down his face, his lips worrying between his teeth. George laughs lightly. He looks up hopefully, and George can’t help but feel bad for making Dream feel bad.

This is just.

Well.

George ponders for a moment what words can best describe this. “I’m sorry,” he says at last. “This is just— All of this is a little crazy for me, and. I’m not sure. When you were running after me, my body just.” He makes a little motion with his hands, like that would really help. Dream nods, his mask facing the floor now.

Deep in thought. 

“It’s okay, I get that. I know I can be a bit much. I must’ve scared you bad, huh?”

George laughs gently. “Just a little bit.”

Silence. “It’s just— This is kinda scary. Like, I know for a  _ fact _ that there's something wrong here, you telling me the other night wouldn’t have changed anything. The forest here just feels—“

“Off.”

George's eyes widen slightly at Dream. “Yeah. Off.”

Dream smiles lightly, but it isn't a happy smile. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been here for a long time George,” he says, looking back up to him. “A really long time.”

George nods. He can assume at least that much. A new question pops up in his head. There’s not much in trying to save it if George is never going to ask it, is there. “Dream,” he starts. “Why don’t you leave this forest?”

Silence. “Like, I know you have a home here, but. If it's so bad…” He looks up at Dream, trying to catch his attention. “Why not leave?”

Dream looks at him for a moment, and only shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, sadness laced throughout his voice. “I’ll get you out of here soon, anyway.”

George should be happy at that fact, he really should, but. He isn’t. At least, he isn't happy with how sad Dream sounds just saying that out loud. George opens his mouth to say something, but before he can get anything out, Dream interrupts him. “Don’t leave at night.”

“...What?”

“Don't leave the cabin at night,” he repeats. “Promise me that much.”

George looks at Dream confused, but once Dream looks right back at him, he can only nod. “Can I ask why?”

No answer.

George looks back to the ground. “...Okay.”

...George ignores the pit of the dread in his stomach. 

For a long while, they both just sit. Neither of them ever go to say anything, they simply just wait. George isn't sure for what, but, he doesn’t feel like moving for a long time. 

It must’ve been at least an hour into the silence when a butterfly catches George’s eyes. He was lucky enough to get his own little patch of sunlight, while Dream sits in the shade of a large tree near him. As the butterfly pleasantly moves around, George finds himself watching it. Finds himself watching every wing beat, every little movement. 

It doesn’t help that the butterfly is blue. 

That just makes it all the more beautiful.

Dream seems to notice, more watching George than the butterfly. He can't say that he practically cares, not really. The butterfly is too beautiful for him to react to Dream, anyway.

The butterfly moves here and there, mostly on flowers with strange colors and in the sunlight. At some point it started to head in Dream’s direction, only to immediately turn around at the cold shade. They both laugh at that.

After a moment more, Dream finally breaks the silence. “You like butterflies?”

George shrugs, slightly thankful for the change in pace. “Not really, but, this ones just really pretty.”

Dream hums, and stares over at the small bug. Understandment dawns on his face. “Its blue.” George turns his head to look at him, then looks back to the. butterfly. 

“...and?”

“You can see blue.”

George looks back to him half in shock, half in amusement. “That’s correct, it is blue and I can see it. Yes,  _ good job, Dream.”  _ Dream shushes him, quiet laughter filling the small clearing that they’ve found. 

It asountinishs George how they can click back into a light hearted topic so quickly. It's odd for him to click with anyone really, much less a stranger.

Or. Not a stranger. But not quite a friend, either.

After watching the butterfly for a few moments more, George looks back to Dream who’s looking elsewhere than the butterfly and him. George tilts his head, and opens his mouth to ask, but Dream interrupts him.

“We should get going,” he says.

George doesn’t disagree. He doesn't really know much about what happens here, so he lets himself follow the other. Cautiously of course, but he lets himself follow.

George wonders why Dream scares him, sometimes. 

But, really.

He doesn’t even know if Dream himself can answer that question.

As the trees slowly grow thick again, George finds himself looking back at the small clearing, sunlight coating the area in light. Far, far away from them, sitting on a small flower is a blue butterfly.

George leaves the clearing tired, and with a few more questions.

* * *

The walk back was uneventful.

The only thing George could hear was the river somewhere in the forest, and a few birds surprisingly enough. By now, it was only a little bit darker, and George knew that the sun was going to be setting soon. It had been out for a long time now, and he knows it's going to be setting soon.

For most of the walk back, he finds himself looking at the ground again.

Letting his eyes catch on anything that looks interesting.

Rocks, twigs, flowers.

George feels tired. But he doesn’t know why. 

The walk back was just as quiet, if not more so. Neither of them tried talking, and George was left with nothing to say after what had happened. It was like his mind was wiped. He could ask questions if he was brave enough, yet. He chooses not to.

Asking questions wasn’t really that good for anyone, so. He stays quiet. And besides, more questions meant more questions than answers, so maybe it's better this way.

For everyone, really.

Dream walks a little ways in front of him, staring straight ahead. George can’t hope but feel bad for freaking out on him. It was uncalled for, and he really shouldn’t have done it either way, but.

The cold air was familiar, in some sort of strange way. In the moment, George wasn’t thinking, but now that he thinks about it…

He's felt that before. That feeling of dread. But that can't be right, this wasn’t the same feeling he had when he encountered Dream. This one was different, this was one that made him feel…

Well. Almost unsafe.

He shudders at the thought.

Because.

He doesn't know much about Dream, not really. George is putting a lot of trust in him simply because he's still alive. George is still walking on his own two legs, and Dream hasn’t shown any form of aggression towards him, no form of wanting to hurt him before. Today however.

Today, Dream was  _ fearsome. _

...George doesn’t know what to think of that. This  _ place _ on its own is already too much, but the thought that Dream could be added to his list of things to avoid…

Well. That isn't a good thing for anyone. Especially him. 

George hits something in front of him, his legs tumbling slightly when Dreams back comes into view. He opens his mouth to ask, but, before he can even do anything, Dream turns, motioning for him to be quiet. Confused, George nods.

His eyes widen when Dream looks slightly afraid.

George wants to ask so badly as to what's making him give George that look, or what’s wrong, or at least  _ something  _ about the situation that they’re in, but—

All of his questions are answered in an instant. His heart calms immediately, and a small smile makes its way onto his face.

Far ahead, in another small clearing sits two fawns, both napping in the setting sunlight. Dream looks back to him with a small smile on his face. But this time, instead of trying not to smile, George smiles right back at Dream.

For a moment, they both stare at the two young deer, blissfully unaware of them watching from the shadows of the tall trees. It's almost funny, that they aren’t even aware of him or Dream. 

It makes George a little afraid. If they can easily watch the fawn without them noticing, George can only hope that he's more observant than them.

He tries his best to chase away the dark thoughts.

  
  


Really.

  
  
  
  


He does.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Too bad they stick around anyway.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> thank u for reading :)


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh..... hi?
> 
> Sorry for not posting over the weekend! I was drowning under a ton of work so I couldn’t get the chapter out like I wanted to :( So, instead of posting a short one then, I wanted to give you all a longer one!
> 
> I think that due to the fact I want to try to work on some personal writing projects I might start to truly post once a week, but then again i’m like 92% sure this is the turning point for the plot :0
> 
> So really, this is a test of strength for me lol
> 
> if you get more than one update, you’ll know if I passed my own test
> 
> But anyway! Thank you everyone for all of the love!! I cant put into words how much it all means to me <3 I hope you all enjoy whats to come!
> 
> Thank you!!! :)
> 
> Edit: Ive recently fixed a ton of spelling errors, if theres anything else wrong with this chapter don't be afraid to leave a comment :)

There’s something _off_ about Dream. 

This much is very obvious to George, and he thinks its obvious to anyone who is in proximity of the man, if he where to be honest. The way he speaks, avoids questions, the way he seems to be _hiding_ something makes George feel.

Well. He supposes uneasy is the best word he can use to describe the feeling, no matter how weird it is to call Dream that.

As the cabin comes into view with him and Dream walking side by side, he doesn’t feel all that uneasy. For the most part, hes comfortable with Dream. Other times, well. 

You know how the _other_ times turn out. George doesn't need to explain himself.

In the rather large clearing, George can’t help but slow down and take in the sight of the nice little cabin. They must’ve run pretty far, as they both face the back of the building. 

A question sits on the back of his mind.

George glances over to Dream, but his pace quickens at the attention. At the reaction, George sighs, and continues to walk. _Why didn’t we get turned around? Like what happened to me?_

Another question for the folder.

Its overflowing at this point, and George saying he’s disappointed doesn’t even describe the half of it. But he supposes there isn't much he can do about it. 

As they walk around the house, George realizes that, _wait, maybe there is a question he can ask…_

“Hey Dream?” Dream stops, and turns over his shoulder. 

George continues at the silence that follows the motion. “Is the, uh,” George says awkwardly. He can practically feel the eyes burning into the top of his head, and he can’t help but look away. “Is the grass alive?” Inwardly, he cringes at how strange his own voice sounds to him, how it cracks and wavers slightly, but Dream doesn;t seem to care.

A chuckle.

Quiet, but he hears a chuckle.

Followed by another, then another, then _another._

Then Dream is laughing again, and George can’t help but feel _right._ Like this is something he’s wanted to do for a long time, and he’s just now managed to complete his task.

He’s made Dream laugh before, made him wheeze at seemingly mundane things, but after what happened earlier, this only feels extra special. To George, at least. By the way Dream laughs and laughs and laughs, he must be thinking the same thing.

By the time Dream is done laughing, they both have a small smile on their face. George’s question was never answered, but he’s fine with that. He can only assume that grass is truly green, and not yellow like what it looks like.

It’d be silly if the vegetation was dead. In the middle of a forest you would think that there wouldn’t be entire patches of dead grass, would you?

Now inside the cabin, George and Dream kick off their shoes, George with his old vans, Dream with the large boots, and they both wander off down the hallway. George takes a seat on his stool by the counter, and Dream takes his spot in the kitchen, leaning against a drawer. His hands sit in his pockets, and George leans his head against his hands. 

Silence follows that. It’s the good kind, though.

For the first time in what feels like a long time, George finds himself surprised by the quiet, “What are you even doing all the way in Oregon?” 

George tilts his head at that. “What do you mean?”

Dream shrugs, and stares at the wall across from him. “I mean what I said, why are you in Oregon? Like,” he moves his hands out of his pockets, motioning along with his words. “I know you rented some cabin or something like that, but _why?_ Why not get some random cabin out in the middle of England?”

George opens his mouth, closes it. 

...well. There isn't really a point in hiding his reasoning isn’t there? “Well,” he starts. “A long while back, I had a friend get a cabin up here. Some guy from discord, I’ve known him for a long time.” George shifts his hands, one arm propping up his head as he stares out the window, looking for nothing in particular. “He lives by me, and he’s recommended this little town to me quite a few times now. That was my main reasoning for awhile.”

Dream nods and opens his mouth to say something. “But,” George interrupts. Dream’s mouth shuts at his voice. “I dont think that was all of my reasoning, not really.”

Dream seems to lean forward slightly. “Then, what was the rest of it?”

George thinks. “Well.”

For a moment, he has no words. Way back in England, on the day he had gotten those tickets, he wasn’t sure what was going through his head. He had gotten one to leave, and one for his trip back. So much for the ‘coming back’ part… “I _did_ have a long break of sorts, so. I thought I’d give it a shot.”

“Do you mean getting fired?”

They both chuckle. “No, definitely not. Its some company, a new one too. They decided to give me a ‘break’ for a month.”

...Ok, now that he says that out loud maybe he _did_ get fired. He hopes not. “But anyway,” he continues. “I think. Everything back home feels sort of. _Dull.”_

...Dream tilts his head. “What do you mean?” Theres a small hint of _something_ in his voice, but George isn't sure of what.

“Just.” He prauses. If he continues to talk about this, he realizes. Then George won't really see this not-stranger-not-friend as someone he can’t trust. He’ll be opening up to someone who might be _dangerous._ That means that if he says anything more, _theres no going back._

And yet. If there was a reason for him not to trust Dream, he couldn’t even name it himself.

Theres something off about Dream.

But.

Theres something off about George, too.

That makes two of them.

“Back home,” George continues, his voice quiet. “Back home, a lot of the days are the same.” The memories are coming back now, slowly but surely. The memories are some that he had ignored quite often, but. They still sat in his head, all for no reason at all.

Maybe. Maybe its because George hated the memories.

“Every day was kinda in. Black and white, I suppose. The same routine over and over again.” Dream nods slowly. Like he gets it. Like he _understands._

George doesn’t know how to feel about it. But he doesn’t know how to feel about a lot of things.

But it's okay to not know how to feel about things. George realized that _here_ out of all the places in the world.

How strange. 

“It was like that for a long _long_ time,” George continues, his mind slowly moving back to the past, to long days, to _home._ Boring mornings. Boring days. Borning nights. “My friends _had_ made the days better here and there, but.” He shrugs, a bitter smile sitting on his face. “Things kinda stayed the same for a long time. So. I took my friend’s word, and came up to Oregon for a change of pace.”

Dream laughs. “I bet you weren’t expecting _this_ where you?”

George shakes his head. “ _Nope,”_ he says, his voice barely above a whisper. But. He can’t help but think maybe this is for the best, no matter how bad of an idea it sounds. No matter how bad of an idea it was. No matter how bad of an idea it _is._

Without this little bad idea of his, he then would have never met Dream, would he?

“Even though its… well. _Insane_ out here,” he says with a smile. “It’s colorful, compared to home at least.” 

Dream smiles at that, and looks back to the wall. 

Theres a pause.

“...You know. I found this place completely on accident.” George’s head snaps to Dreams, his eyes wide. Dream isn’t looking at him, so he doesn't seem to notice Georges hysteria over _finally_ getting an answer. “A long time ago,” he starts with a hum. “I was…” An odd look flashes across Dreams face. “ _Dropped off_ here, I guess you could say. After wanding around for a long while.” Dream spreads is arms out, motioning towards the cabin. “I found here.”

A gentle laugh escapes his lips, and George finds himself quietly chuckling along with his words. “Well,” George says. “What did _you_ think when you came here?”

“Well, It was…. something. Didn’t look as nice as it does now.” 

George rolls his eyes. “How was fighting off monsters at the tender age of I cant tie my own shoes?” He laughs at his joke, but. George stops when Dream doesn’t.

...This. This is the side of Dream that makes George feel uncertain, unsafe. This is the side of Dream that makes him reconsider his actions.

This is the side of Dream that holds secrets, and untold stories. This is the side of Dream that George is _scared of._

...He isn't surprised when the air feels cold again. 

Isn't surprised when his hands shake.

Isn't surprised when his heart slows, almost freezing.

But then the feeling is gone in an instant, replaced by Dream sighing. “Sorry,” is all he says. “Sorry for not answering all your questions.”

George tilts his head even though he’s still reeling back from the feeling much akin to whiplash. “ _Why?”_ He elaborates before Dream stops answering questions. George _knows_ he shouldn’t push it, but he _needs_ to know. “Why wont you answer any of my questions?”

All he gets in response is a sigh, followed by a quiet, “I’m scared to find out what will happen if you do.”

George is left confused.

Dream walks off into his room before he can ask anything more. But George is still staring after he goes in, still thinking even after he is gone, still _wondering._

How odd, to only have more questions after an answer.

Odd, odd, odd.

The sun is still up, however, and George doesn’t have anything to really distract himself with. Looking down to his hands, he can only sigh.

George is left to think.

His hand almost unconsciously moves to his coat, plucking out his thick rimmed glasses, his fingers trailing over the white plastic. He chuckles at the object. Really, why _did_ he ever decide to bring these with him?

Hm…

George wonders what they could be used for.

As the sun finally sets, George is left to fiddle with the glasses as his mind sorts through a folder of questions, questions, and _more_ questions.

* * *

Funnily enough, it seems like the mornings up here in the forest are just as quiet as the mornings are back home. The only exception is that sometimes the birds occasionally chirp every few hours it seems like, in England they’re practically _nonstop_.

George finds it odd that he misses the noise. Too bad he can’t do much about that, anyway.

When George woke up the sun was nowhere to be seen, leaving him slightly chilly. Manageably so, but it's still enough to make him shiver without the thick blanket around his shoulders. Random thoughts float around in his head as he stares up at the ceiling, many questions, and random sayings that don’t quiet make sense to his sleepy brain. 

The lantern had gone out at some point, the one that Dream always keeps on at night, so its hard to see anything really. Its not exactly pitch black, but its not exactly easy for him to see, either. George doesn’t really mind, though.

But.

What he really minds is the fact that George is going to get bored _real_ soon. 

Really, he tries to think about something interesting, tries to get rid of the questions in his head, but no matter what he does, no matter what he thinks of, the wave comes back. He feels weird going through anyone’s kitchen without asking, and Dream usually grabs him what he needs without even asking. Food, water, he just seems to _know._ George finds it odd, but he tries not to question it all that much.

By the time the wave of boredom hit its high with him staring at the ceiling blankly, the sound of a door opening catches his attention. Immediately, he rolls onto his stomach and peaks over the edge of the couch, his brain hungry for something rather than questions. And like he had thought, Dream stands outside of his door.

Its hard to see, but he looks like hes ready for the day at ass-o-clock in the morning, which makes Goerge slightly afraid for his mental health. There's no way he wakes up _this_ early everyday…

But he _did_ say he had a nasty sleep schedule. Hell, even a few nights ago, George was out with him in the kitchen, the night darker than black. He shudders at the thought of how Dream even _sleeps_ at night. 

Even _George_ doesn't wake up this early… 

George would like to think he wakes up at a pretty normal time of nine ish, maybe ten. On the nights where he stays up, obviously he doesn’t wake up at those times, but on most days he’s fine. 

His mind snaps back to the present at the sound of footsteps.

Dream is moving now, and once he walks into view, the very _very_ dim light from outside illuminates him enough for George to see that he's holding something. He still cant make out what it is, it really just looks like hes holding a lump of _something_ in his hands. George isnt sure what. 

Dream walks a few more steps closer to him, when he slows. “ _Oh,_ ” he says quietly. “I didn’t realize you were up yet. Did I wake you up?” 

George shakes his head, “No, Ive been up for awhile.” George isnt sure how early he fell asleep, but with nothing else to really do, he was practically out by sundown. Who knows what time it is now. “I think I was out really early last night because, you know. No phone, so.”

Dream stares at him for a few moments before wheezing. “Shit, where you just siting out here _that entire time?”_ George nods, a small smile on his lips. A loud _smack_ fills his ears, followed by quiet cursing. “Sorry about that,” Dream says sheepishly. “That’s— Well, embarrassing on my end.” 

Dream puts something on the coffee table with a small thud, and George can vaguely make out the form of his back. With a few clicks followed by a hiss, the room suddenly fills with light. George kicks his legs over the edge of the couch, and Dream turns at the same time, a dark blush painted on his face. Its hard to tell due to the mask, but his skin is so dark that George can only assume that he’s really blushing.

George stares at the lantern in confusion, then looks back to Dream. “Why the lantern?” George looks towards the lights on the ceiling, and thinking back on it, they _where_ working earlier, weren’t they? “I thought the lights worked over here.”

Dream nods, opens his mouth, then closes it. “Its just, uh,” he starts. A small pang of annoyance grows in George’s chest. “Well—“

“If you’re going to lie you dont have to say,” George cuts in. He knows its rude to do so, but. Its also rude to _lie._ “I know you dont like answering my questions, so. I’d rather you not lie to me than give me a false answer.” His voice sounds tight, and he almost snaps his words at Dream, but he manages to keep a grip on his emotions.

Dream’s mouth hangs open in a small _o,_ before he shuts it, his mouth in a tight line. He sighs, and his hands fit back into his pockets. “Sorry.” He doesn’t say anything more. 

George adds the question back to his long _long_ list. Really, maybe _none_ of his questions will be answered. When thinking back to last night, though. Maybe, just maybe.

Maybe he’ll get his questions answered.

At Dream’s tight posture, George relaxes his tense shoulders, sighing. “No, i’m sorry,” he says guiltily. “I shouldn’t have snapped like that. But just— I would appericiate it if you wouldn’t lie to me.” 

Dream nods. “I just. I’m not sure.” He looks back towards George, his head slightly tilted. He opens his mouth to say something, but. He seems to back track. He turns back towards the kitchen, and George _barely_ catches what he says, but George _swears_ that he hears him say, “Maybe you’ll find out one day.”

George doesnt question it. At first he couldn’t believe his ears by how Dream acts like he never said a thing, but George knows what he heard. 

And _god,_ he hopes thats true.

Whatever Dream had dropped on the table catches George’s attention. On the low coffee table sits a small pile of clothes, black pants and a large, white hoodie. George looks over to Dream confused.

“Oh,” he says. “I’m assuming you’d like some clean clothes..?” George looks back down the clothing and examines them. The pants will fit fine, but the hoodie might be a little too big for him. Under the hoodie sits a blue t-shirt, one that looks to be his size. “Of course, unless you don't want to wear those—“

“Oh, no no no,” George says quickly. “These will work fine.” He grabs the clothing, and his eyes widen slightly at how soft the material is. It isn’t rough like his clothes are, but it might just be becasue these are clean, unlike his clothes. Speaking of which.

He opens his mouth to ask, but Dream beats him to his own question. “Yeah, you can use the shower. It's down the hall to the left, clean towels in the cupboard.”

George looks to Dream in surprise, but smiles. He takes the clothes, hugging them close to his chest. “Thank you, Dream.” 

Dream nods, before pointing to the door to outside with his thumb. “I’m going to be out for awhile, hold the fort for me?”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m not really planning on going anywhere anytime soon.” 

Dream nods in approval, and he's gone without a moment's notice. George is slightly surprised, but he doesn't really mind. He wonders what Dream could be doing out in the middle of nowhere…

As quickly as he can, George drops the question. That’s one he _knows_ he won't like the answer to, for some reason. 

Quietly, George pads down the hallway into the bathroom, and he's slightly surprised. Inside, white tile sits neatly on the floor, a gentle yellow painted on the walls. George can assume that the walls aren’t actually yellow, perhaps maybe more of a creme color more than anything, but either way, it matches the granite textured countertop nicely.

When George’s eyes catch on the mirror, he needs to stop to take a double take. 

He’s surprised by what he sees.

In the mirror, instead of seeing his usual self, it's like he's looking into a different world. George’s skin looks oddly pale, eye bags sitting under his eyes that are colored a little too dark for someone who should be getting enough sleep. His hair is all messed up, random bits flying in different directions. 

...Even on the nights where he stays up til the sun returns, he usually doesnt look like _this._ George is surprised by how _tired_ he looks.

Now that he thinks about it, his body aches, not enough for it to be noticeable, but enough for him to feel weird when he puts pressure on the sensitive spots of his body. There’s a small headache too, sitting in in the back of his head.

Its odd.

He wonders how long he's looked like this for. How long he has had these pains for. 

He tries not to think about it.

The shower lasted longer than George had intended, but really, he hadn’t had a nice, warm shower in a _long_ time, so he can only hope that Dream hadn’t had mind. When he walks back out in the clothes that Dream had given him, the clothing that's _way too comfortable_ to be considered used, George makes his way over to the couch, sinking into the soft cushions. He feels way nicer now, the warmth making him slightly drowsy. 

George makes a note to thank Dream again for letting him use the shower. 

Speaking of Dream.

George wonders where he had gone. He’s sure that Dream will come back, but, he isn’t exactly sure when. He could be back in the next minute, hour, within the day, but George doesn’t really know. 

In the middle of his thoughts, the door opens, revealing Dream standing next to the door. Theres an odd expression on his face, little blotches of brown on his jacket. George waves to him. “Hey.” Dream nods, and walks immediately into his room without a word. George lowers his hand slowly, still staring at the door.

He sighs, and looks back towards the table with nothing better to do. Really, he needs to figure out how to distract himself better, at this rate, George isn't going to last much longer. 

Luckily, it seems that he doesn't have to wait for long. 

The door opens once more, and George can see Dream standing out of the corner of his eye. The jacket is gone, and he's standing there lost in thought by the looks of it, a black tank top sitting neatly on his shoulders. Its odd to see him without anything other than a hoodie. As Georges eyes wander down his arms, he finds himself quickly looking away, staring at the floor. Something akin to bile piles up in his throat, and he can only swallow down the bitter taste.

  
  


Padding footsteps, the sound of a creaking couch. The noise seems slighlty muffed to him, but once Dream speaks George seems to be able to hear again. “You okay? Looking a little sick,” he says, worry obviously making his words only slightly rushed. 

George waves his hand, and tries his best not to look at the large scars on his arm. “Its just. I guess I can’t handle looking at.” He coughs. “You know.”

Dream seems confused for a moment, before his eyes land on his own arms. Quickly, he shuffles them behind his back, a light blush forming on his ears. “O-oh. Sorry.” Dream sinks back into the couch, his arms hidden from Georges sight. “It’s been a while, I guess.”

George can only hum, and pretend he knows what that's like. He doesn’t but. He understands not being used to new things, George supposes. Really, isnt that something everyone has to deal with though?

George thinks thats normal. He’s _pretty sure_ thats a normal problem. He hopes it is.

But.

Anyway.

“So,” George starts rather awkwardly. “You leave from time to time, don’t you? The forest I mean.”

Dream hums, a hand on his chin. George can just barley catch himself from glancing at the scars, but he manages it. “I suppose so. I only leave for like, food and stuff.” George nods.

“Uh, how often exactly?”

Dream goes quiet. For a moment, George takes that as _No, i’m not going to answer your question,_ so he throws the thought into the folder.

But.

“I’d say about every two months or so, I usually get a lot of stuff.” George finds himself staring at Dream, his eyes slightly wide. “I dont like going out too often, so. I make my trips quick, and short.”

“Ah,” he responds dumbly. “Do you… not like people?”

Dream laughs, the noise loud and boisterous. “ _God,_ no, I could never.” A sad look flashes over his eyes, and it makes him seem… well, George can only describe the feeling as sadness, really. “It’s… a long story.” Dream sends him a sheepish look, and before George can really say anything back to him, Dream adds on: “It’s also… one I don’t like to tell.”

An answer. 

Okay, _okay, what is happening._

_Why is he suddenly answering all of his questions?_

“I can read you like a book, you know,” Dream says with a wide grin plastered on his face. George can only blush at that, his eyes flying to the floor. “It’s not a bad thing, but just keep that in mind.”

_Oh, no, he’ll be_ sure _to._

For a few moments its quiet. But of course, the kind that follows a pleasant conversation. Its just as quiet outside, besides the very _very_ occasional bird chirp.

Did George mention that it was _extremely occasional?_

Dream breaks the silence before George can become comfortable. Or, he just randomly gets up out of _nowhere,_ and it’s noisy enough for the sound to break the silence. 

His hand flies out like a snake, grabbing George’s arm, just like the day before. This time instead of stumbling all the way out the door, George manages to carry himself the entire way out. As soon as the cool air hits him, and Dream runs ahead to turn back to him, George can only wait.

When Dream chuckles and gets into a position _very_ similar to the one he was in yesterday before they ran off, George doesn’t smile like a maniac. Instead, a pit of dread makes its way into his stomache, and he can't help but take a few steps back. “Uh.”

Dream’s smile disappears in a moment, a small frown appearing instead. His hands fit into his pockets and his posture straightens. Dream opens his mouth to say something, but. No words ever come out. 

The memories of yesterday are still too fresh in George’s memories to do _that_ again. And Dream seems to understand _completely._

George is glad he doesn’t have to voice what he feels. Honestly, even if he tried to, he couldn’t. Truly, it's hard to even _word_ how he's feeling, even in his own head. It's like— It's like he's sick. It's like he's about to throw up, its like something _horrible_ is going to happen, it's like—

Its like there is something _wrong wrong wrong._

Dreams face softens, or at least George thinks it does by the way his face becomes round, and by how his entire body seems to loosen up as well. He makes his way towards George, and gently places a hand on his shoulder. It makes his heart jump in a not so good way, but he tries his best not to show it. 

A gentle squeeze grounds him. “I’m sorry. We won’t do that.” A frown sits on his lips, before Dream is smiling alll over again. “Instead,” he starts, reaching for his arm, slowly. When George doesn’t flinch, he gives George a gentle tug. “Let me show you something?”

George doesn't know what to think at first. His nerves are all over the place, and he honestly doesn’t want to go somewhere that could leave him in danger. “Don’t worry,” Dream says quietly. “Ill protect you, alright?”

And there’s—

Theres a weight to those words. Theres a weight to all of Dreams words, but, there’s something about how he says _these_ thats make him rethink his decision, that makes him feel…

George realizes with a jolt that those words make him feel _safe._

He laughs. In his head of course, but he laughs non the less.

Theres something silly about _Dream_ saying that out of everyone who could. This is the same person that George was afraid of, right? 

The same person who had chased him in the woods? The same person who had saved him from a bear? The same person with two many secrets? The same person who has scars all over their arm? Is this _really_ Dream?

But, looking at him now, looking at the man in a black tank top, the man with the large boots, the man with the smiley face mask, the man with a _fierce_ aura of _power_ around him—

George can’t help but laugh. Because yes, that’s Dream.

The same Dream that let him stay in the cabin. The same Dream who’s starting to answer his questions. The same Dream who has a laugh all too contagious for a normal person. The same Dream who seems to only wear green and black.

That’s him. That’s the Dream that George knows.

He can’t stop his eyes from softening at the words. With a small smile, he nods. “Alright,” he whispers back. With a gentle tug on his arm again, they start to walk.

But, he guesses that Dream wasn’t lying. George doesn’t particularly feel unsafe per say, nor does he feel like he's in danger. In that moment of them walking side by side, in that moment where the silence feels pleasant—

George feels alright again. 

  
  


Its strange to think that there’s a monster in these woods. Strange to think someone has died here. As leaves gently fall from the tree tops, the little path they’re taking clear and bright, George can’t help but laugh. Dream looks at him confused, and George can only wave his hand. “What are you laughing at?”

George just shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, a smile on his face. Really, he isnt in the mood to think about whats in these woods. He’d rather focus on how warm the sunlight feels against his skin, how nice it is to have small breezes fly through his hair. His chest is light, and just as warm as the patches of sun dancing across the forest floor. 

Everything feels light.

It feels nice, having company.

* * *

For a long while, they merely walked in silence. It wasn’t exactly quiet surprisingly enough, as there seemed to be more birds than normal. A sparrow here and there, the occasional crow cawing. It was quiet, quiet, quiet, besides that. Instead of it being a bad kind of quiet, George supposes that this is something he could consider _nice._

Dream walks beside him, just as quiet as him. Whenever they send each other a glance, they both break out into a smile, then go back to looking at whatever passes them by.

Some point during the walk, Dream had finally broke the silence. “So,” he starts. “Does— What does this look like to you?”

George turns his head, just so he can see Dream out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

“Just like— What does…” Dream opens his mouth, then closes it. He arches his arm over the forest floor, glancing away for a moment only to look back to George with curiousity plastered over his words. “What does this look like to you?”

George tilts his head, then turns to look around.

And really, he doesnt know how to answer the question. “I dont… think I understand?”

Dream sighs, then turns back to the small path. “Nothing, forget what I said. I bet you get that question a lot, anyway.” 

George looks to Dream, then to the path. He can only assume that he's talking about his color blindness. Everything looks… _right_ to him, he supposes. He _has_ gotten that question quite a few times over the years, though.

“Yeah, everything just looks.” He pauses for a moment. “Well, I mean for me it looks normal.” Dream doesn’t say anything. George assumes that he wanted to make a conversation of sorts, just because he could. A small idea pops into his head. “But,” he starts, bringing Dreams attention to him. “What does it look like to _you?”_

An odd look flashes over Dream, something akin to confusion, maybe. Really, its just _so hard_ so tell what emotions he’s showing. Its tricky to tell what hes feeling, but George thinks he can guess what hes feeling pretty well. He thinks.

Maybe.

...he hopes so.

He seems to be right, though. Dream puts his hands in his pockets, looking up to the treetops deep in thought. He hums lightly. 

George looks back to the path. Dream probably cant answer the question either way. But, hes proven wrong rather quickly. “For me,” Dream says hesitantly. “Everything is saturated. Bright, and _alive.”_

George finds himself looking over to Dream. “Everything is just… so green.” 

Green. A small little spark of realization ignites in his head. “Is that why it’s your favorite color?”

A chuckle. “That, and I just really like green. Too bad you cant see it, I’d think you’d like it.”

He snorts. “Wow, I want to see green _so badly,_ Dream please _green is so cool,_ I don’t think I can live another day _without seeing green—“_

Dream interrupts his wailing with a jab from his elbow. They both break out into laughter, Dreams hands on his stomache while George’s rest on his knees for a moment. “No, seriously,” Dream says half laughing. He looks around for a moment, and looks back to him after George starts to walk again. “It’s like— Do you know what pine trees smell like? That’s what green looks like.”

“Pfft— Wait what? How do you correlate _green_ with the smell of _pine trees?”_

Dream shrugs. “Hell if I know.”

They both laugh a little more, then continue to walk through the forest. It’s something that George hadn’t noticed, but now that he’s focusing, there’s a noise similar to white noise in the distance. _Water,_ he realizes. The sounds of a rushing river reach his ears loud and clear. He's surprised. Within his vision, George can’t see anything that may even point towards where the river is.

He wonders how large the river is. It's loud for something he can't see. 

“Okay so,” Dream says, leading them off of the trail. “How good is your balance?”

And _oh boy_ George does not like the sound of that. “Uh, excuse me?”

Dream doesn’t even give him a glance. “You heard me.” George thinks about the question for a moment before walking through the random vegetation littered about the forest floor. 

“I have okay balance I guess, why?”

“Ok, is it good enough balance to basically tightrope across a river?” George’s skin pales, but Dream continues to talk. “‘Cause if you fall in, I really don’t want to come save you.”

George thinks for a moment, and yeah. He was asking for something _insane_ like this, wasn’t he? George stays carefully quiet. By the time they walk over a small hill, only large enough to obscure his visions, George can clearly see the river in sight.

And oh boy, it’s _big._

The water rages quickly, the water foaming and crashing into large rocks. Wisps of water fly into his face, a few droplets manage to make it into his eyes. Theres a small sandy bank, but the only way to get down there is to walk down the family steep incline below his feet. Besides, George doesn't think he needs to go down there anyway. If he even _touches_ the water, he’s sure to be washed away into the water to god knows where.

He gives Dream a nervous look. But Dream can only look back to him with a wide grin. His smile falters slightly at the fear on George’s face, but he doesn’t seem to be _too_ worried, which only makes George _more_ nervous for what he’s planning to do.

Well.

George doesn’t even know if he has a plan at this point.

Dream tugs on his arm, and even with his loud yelling George can barely hear him. “Look!” George follows where his hand points, and can only sigh in defeat. Up further down the river sits a slender tree trunk placed quite perfectly over the river to the other side of the raging water. It looks hard to climb, as the other side of the bank is much higher than the one him and Dream stand on.

George can only sigh. Dream looks back to him with a wide smile on his face, and George can only give him a small and shaky one. 

This is a horrible idea. But, _oh,_ there Dream goes, walking up the river a little too fast for George. Instead of keeping up with his fast pace, George decides to walk rather slowly.

By the time he makes it over to the trunk, it looks even _smaller_ and _thinner_ than he had expected. From far away, it was… manageable looking to scale. But now that he’s standing right next to it…

“I can’t walk over that.”

Dream groans. “Oh _come on,”_ he says, obviously disappointed. He looks to the tree, then back to George. “Okay, listen. I really want to like, y’know, get across the river. This is the fastest path to where I want to go, so this is the best way we can take.”

George gives him a look of disdain. “I can’t fucking climb _that.”_ George eyes the small and slender foot space, and now he kinda gets why Dream called it a tightrope. “How do you even _manage_ to get over that?”

Dream looks to him. Looks to the tree. Looks back to George and _shrugs._ “I just do,” is what he says simply. 

George groans, dragging his hands over his face. Yep. This is where he dies, this is how he's gonna be remembered, he’s gonna be remembered for dying not to a monster, oh no no no. George is gonna be remembered for _fucking drowning._

Dream places his hands on the trunk, and looks back to George. 

He pauses, standing back up.

He seems to be thinking judging from the way he kinda stares off into space. His mask stays pointed at the ground, and George can only stare at the ground, too. He literally has no idea what's going on, so. Nothing else for him to do.

Dream jumps, and the action makes George flinch back slightly surprised. “Can I try something?”

George tilts his head. “Uh, sure?”

When Dream takes a few steps towards George, then moves closer, closer, and _closer_ , George starts to regret saying okay. But he has no time to think that at _all._

One second he’s standing upright, the next, Dream is carrying him, fireman style. At first, he almost falls face first into the dirt, but Dream catches him with a yelp. “ _Damn,_ you’re heavier than you look!” 

“ _Hey!”_

“Oh don’t worry,” Dream calls to him. “It’s not a bad thing, I don't think.”

George can only sigh, his fingers digging into the side of Dream. “ _Okay,”_ he says, his voice slightly high pitched. “Is this _really a good idea?”_

Dream stills for a moment, and George can feel him shrug. “Well, actually.” He places George down gently, and George doesnt realize that his hands are shaking until he lets go of Dream. Dream smiles sheepishly, before turning around and kneeling. “This might be better.”

George stares at Dream’s back. At first, he really wants _nothing to do with this._

But.

Then Dream's words appear in his head.

_‘Don’t worry, I'll protect you.’_

And, really.

George shouldn’t put so much faith into someone he hadn’t met too long ago.

But. 

Good thing it's Dream who he met.

Hesitantly, George climbs onto Dreams back, his legs hooking around his waist. Dream jumps up with a bounce in his step, and George almost falls off with the action. Dream repositions George’s hands and legs for a better grip, for both himself and Dream. “Don’t let go, alright?”

George nods. When Dream turns his head repeating what he had said, George says rather quietly, “Yeah, don't worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

This awards him a laugh or two. It makes his own heart feel a little better, but once Dream takes a step towards the fallen tree his breath seems to disappear in this throat. 

Dream hooks his arms under George’s legs, and slowly slowly slowly begins to walk over the tree.

And oh boy, was he scared _shitless._

His hands are shaking, and he’s _positive_ that his hands are going to leave marks by how hard he’s gripping, and his breath is a little too empty for what he’d like, and yet—

George hasn’t fallen yet. 

Dream carefully makes his way over the tree, an incredible balancing act really, and he _still_ hasn’t let go of George. He’s surprised, and franctilly _really really glad he isnt in the river right now._ As the water jumps up at Dream’s feet, George can’t help but gasp at whatever small movement that makes them rock a little too much for comfort. As the water laps, rages, and swirls below them, George cant help but stare down at it. No matter how scared it makes him feel, no matter how empty his chest feels by staring at the river, he can't help but be mesmerized.

Its better than watching Dream’s feet. Any wrong move, and they’re both gone.

And that’s—

George is now realizing how much faith he’s really putting into Dream. He’s staring to regret it.

Only a little bit.

But, against all odds. Here they are, halfway across the river. For a moment, George’s nerves go back to normal, and he cant help but think, _Maybe this isn’t as bad as I thought it was—_

Then Dream _slips_.

George gasps, and Dream curses, Dream catching his footing before they both go tumbling over the edge of no return. For a moment, the trees rocks.

They both hold their breath.

And when it stops, Dream continues forward.

Carefully. 

One step at a time.

One step in front of the other, George realizes. Something that comes easy to him.

Ha.

How the times change.

But—

Against it all—

Dream takes a final hope over the trunk, and there. They’ve made it to the other side. Dream spins looking towards the raging river below. He laughs lightly. “Not too bad, right?”

George nods. “Mhm, sure. Not bad at all.”

Dream laughs harder, letting go of his legs. George doesn’t know what to do for a moment before remembering that _oh right, he has legs._

George almost collapses into the ground but he manages to catch himself. He puts a hand over his fast beating heart, taking in a few gulps of air. “See?” Dream walks close to him, patting his back thoughtfully. “I got you across safely. I didn’t lie back then, did I?”

George laughs. “I guess not.”

Dream gives his shoulder a squeeze, and then starts to walk. George takes in one more large breath, and then hes running right after Dream. 

The other side of the river looks much like the path they took to get here; it's something that George doesn’t realize until they find another path to start walking on. Once they make it onto the path, he finds himself looking back to Dream. “Where are we going?”

Dream only smiles. “You’ll see.”

George’s brow scrunches together, but he continues to follow him. 

The forest grows a little more quiet.

* * *

More time passes.

By the time they apparently get near to wherever Dream is taking him, the sky is at its brightest now, the sun directly above them. The air is still cool, and now they’ll see the occasional butterfly stray by on their path. 

Still, the walk remains nice.

George sighs, bored at the long walk. It’s nice, sure, but he’s slowly grow bored of staring at the ground for so long… Dream glances over to him, and giggles a little bit. “What, you done?”

George shoots him a glare. “ _Well,_ ” he starts. “We’ve been walking for a _long ass time._ ” 

“...And?”

Yeah, no, George isnt going to try to say anything more. He only sighs. “...Nevermind. I’m just bored. We’ve been walking for a while now, like I said, and the ground hasn’t really changed much since we’ve started walking. So, i’m _bored—“_

“Here.”

George’s mouth snaps shut audibly. He tilts his head at Dream, then looks to where he’s pointing. 

...His hands lead to nothing. George stares at Dream, confused. Dream’s shoulders sag, and he trots forward. “Yeah, ok, _come on.”_

George finds himself smiling at his frustration. But he follows right after Dream. 

One foot in front of the other, as he used to say. 

Dream runs ahead, stopping at a slope in the path. Farther ahead of him is a clearing, the trees disappearing suddenly. The clearing opens to the sky, clear as day, and George can’t help but wonder why the trees end there.

As he makes his way over to where Dream stands, his eyes move towards what he’s looking at. 

Or.

What he thought Dream was looking at. 

As George gets closer and closer to Dream, he can’t help but notice that this isnt some random clearing. Far from it, actually. 

With wide eyes, George can only stare as he realizes that they’re standing on the edge of a clif, miles and miles and _miles_ of forest in every direction as far as his eyes can see. Low clouds hanging over some parts, mist of the others, random clearings, rivers forking in a hundred different directions— George is dumbstruck as he takes it all in.

He can’t help by how _beautiful_ it all is.

So much, that he’s practically _frozen._

“So,” Dream says, a smirk obviously sitting on his face. Just from his voice George knows that he is. “Is this boring? Should we head back?”

George finds himself shaking his head.

“No.” 

A few birds catch his eyes.

He’s always thought that there weren’t more than three birds up here in this forest.

But.

He's glad he’s wrong.

“Not boring at all.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha fingers goes brrrr


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! sorry for the late chapter, I believe that for most of you this a *very* late update, but I hope I didn’t disappoint.
> 
> For those who read carefully: pay attention. 
> 
> Thank you to every one for kudos/comments/and hits! Ill try my best to respond soon, I have a lot of work at the moment so sorry for any late replies!!
> 
> I hope you all like this chapter :0
> 
> CW//
> 
> Slight Blood, kinda. still wanted to put a warning :)
> 
> Thank you!! :)

As Dream and George continue to walk through the forest, one thing seems to be on his mind. 

Trust.

Logically, he knows that trust is built with people that you are close to, something that is built with time and patience. Something that doesn’t get created in a moment, or if it does, it's often made blindly and weakly. Trust isn’t something you can buy, or sit down and make, it's something that you have to _earn._

Something you have to work for.

But.

If you have it or not, well, that really just depends on how hard you are working for it, doesn’t it?

As George walks side by side to Dream, George finds himself thinking. 

Really, he shouldn’t try to hard to think about things he knows nothing about, but he can’t help but do so. Really, it’s a given, isn’t it? If you don't know about something you think about it. 

So George does. He thinks, and thinks, and thinks. 

The sun has been setting for a little while now, the sky a darker shade than before. George finds himself glancing at Dream every once in a while, only to see him staring out ahead of him. From what George can tell, he’s thinking about something too.

But George isn't sure as to what. 

That’s what's making him think, though. Dream could be thinking about anything, really. To George, he still might be someone dangerous, someone who could hurt him, but. 

George is starting to believe that Dream won't hurt him.

Well. What an interesting thought.

A better one, though? George is starting to do the one thing he’d thought he would never do.

George is starting to _trust_ Dream.

And.

Really, that's something way more interesting to him to think about. So he does. George thinks, thinks, thinks,

As the sun sets, and the forest grows a little bit darker, George’s head fills with reasoning and facts that really won’t make him trust Dream any less at this point. 

He laughs. 

For the stranger has gained his trust.

* * *

After that day at the cliff, time seemed to go by quickly. Many of the days were the same old routine, but somehow, it always seemed interesting. _Colorful._ It went like this: wake up, wait for Dream to appear, talk about random things, explore, come back, maybe eat, then sleep.

It’s repetitive, but. It’s repetitive in a way George isn't really familiar with. Sure, it’s the same routine, but. It’s also _changing._

The day after they had gotten back, Dream brought him back out to a different path in the woods, one that leads out to the east of the woods from where the cabin was. Along the way, they joked about random things, talked about what they liked. 

Mainly, it was just random foods that they liked, or colors. 

( _“Wait, whats your favorite color again, George?”_

_“Blue.”_

_“Hm. Alright.”)_

He soon found out that they both disliked spicy food, which was slightly humorous to him for some reason. It went on like this for quite some time, random topics coming up as they walked. 

Needless to say, George has to admit that it was nice. Everything seems nice with Dream for some reason. He isn't really sure why, but. He suspects that it’s simply because that Dream is the one thing that seems _normal_ here.

And thats saying a lot, as Dream wasn’t all that normal.

After a long while, George found himself staring at his sourroundings. Everything seemed almost… _familiar._ Like he’s been here before. The way the trees were spaced out, the way the lighting made everything seem _bright._ Dream sent him a glance, but said nothing. He only beckoned him to keep walking, and so George did.

It’s when they found the arrow that George decided to speak up. “That,” he had said. “Why is that here?”

It's the same little arrow that he had found when he first walked through the forest. As George looks around, he couldn’t help but notice that _yes,_ he _has_ been here before. In the distance, he can see the stump that Dream had sat on, and behind him was the area where he had first seen Dream, hiding behind the one tree thicker than the rest. 

After a few moments, memories of the bear come back. George cringes at the memories, the sour smell of the bear's breath coming back to him easily. Shivers run up and down his spine at the thought of what could have happened that day. He turns to Dream, his mouth half open, only to have it shut.

Dream stares at a point in the distance. George’s brow scrunches together, and he turns to where Dream is looking, his hands working themselves together.

His heart does something funny in his chest.

At first, he can barely even tell what he’s looking at for a moment, but he only has to catch sight of it’s head.

George’s blood runs cold.

There in the distance, becuase _of fucking course,_ sit’s a large _bear._

Life’s only goal is to spite George at this point.

George's head flies towards Dream, but he freezes slightly at what he's doing. Dream, with all of his glory, just stares at it nonchalantly. 

_What?_

George motions with his hands at the damn thing lumbering slowly around some trees, and Dream only shrugs. He does something with his hands, a succession of quick movements, and George can only stare at him confused. 

Dream mimics his face, stares down at his hands, then sighs. He shakes his head, then looks back to where the bear walks. It’s almost out of sight, but it freezes suddenly, slowly slowly slowly turning around. 

George takes a step back, and he almost grabs Dreams arm to do the same, but—

Dream doesn’t take a step back.

He takes a step forward. 

Dream stares directly at it, his arms cross over his chest, chin held high. For a moment, George considers just _booking it, becuase that bear really doesnt look happy right now._

But of course. 

Dream doesn't really seem to be thinking anything like that, though.

For a few moments, Dream and the bear stare at each other. George nervously watches from behind.

It’s a little too quiet for George's liking.

But.

Then Dream does something.

He takes one more step forward, and George can bearly even see what’s happening for a moment. Dream unfolds his hands, takes another step.

He raises his hand—

And the bear is gone.

George is dumbstruck. The bear is practically _sprinting_ away, and George can only stare, the strange feeling in his chest slowly disappearing. He turns to Dream, taking a few steps towards him.

Next to Dream who’s still staring at where the bear runs, George finds himself thinking. 

Dream turns to him, gives him a small smile, and George finds himself thinking.

George smiles back, but.

He still finds himself thinking.

There’s something off about Dream.

But.

He trusts him.

Perhaps that was a _mistake._

“The arrow,” Dream says, snapping George out of his thoughts. Dream walks back to where the arrow rests on the floor, pointed towards where the bear ran off. He picks it up, his thumb running over the sharp arrow head, his other hand trailing over the fletching of it. George can’t help but notice it looks almost… brown? “There’s a lot of these near here. I haven’t really moved them simply becuase they’ve been here for a long time. I’m not sure why, atucally.” He shrugs. “I’ve been using them as markers.”

George looks up to Dream who’s still playing with the arrow. “Markers?”

He hums. “Yeah, markers. To where I shouldn’t go.”

George tilts his head, confused. Dream looks back up to him, then tilts his head right back at him. After a moment, Dream seems to notice what he’s said, almost dropping the old relic in his hands back to the floor.

He catches himself, putting it down carefully, one hand clamped around his mouth. It’s quiet again. “...Dream?”

“Forget what I said.”

George’s mouth shuts. He can only sigh, nodding.

Dream doesn’t say anything more. 

George tries to ignore how his heart kinda hurts at that. 

He trusts Dream, but. Looks like Dream doesn’t quite trust him yet.

  
  
  


He can only sigh once more as he follows Dream through the woods.

* * *

George can’t help but notice how secretive Dream seems to become sometimes. Can’t help but notice how he seems to want to avoid everything he says.

And sometimes, George can’t help but feel hurt. It’s only a little bit of course, but it still stings. He's not really sure why, but it just _does._

Too bad George can’t do much about it. 

As time passes, the routine stays mostly the same. Some changes here and there, but it stays as consistent as he can ask for it to be. But. The one thing thats really _off_ is the fact that Dream will just. Disappear sometimes. 

In the mornings George will wake up in time to see Dream slip in through the door with dirt on his jacket with an odd look on his face. Or, maybe he just naturally looks like that sometimes. Mouth in a tight line, his shoulders tense. It’s really hard for George to tell sometimes. 

But. 

Still.

Dream disappears only to come back later, and after he changes out of his dirt-stained jacket, _which happens every time he comes back,_ he acts like it never happened. And honestly? George is a little scared to ask about it. He can do much about it, so.

Like he’s said.

Questions aren’t good for him here.

So he lets it all happen. He lets Dream take him out to the forest and explore. He lets Dream tell him where to go. He let’s Dream _lie_ to him.

All out of the name of trust.

Sometimes it’s disheartening to see Dream backtrack. To see him want to lie to his face, but. 

For his trust, George lets him.

Time passes.

* * *

One day, as Dream led George through another path, a small thought passed his head. “Hey Dream,” George had started. “What were those motions you were doing with your hands the other day?”

Dream sent him a look of confusion. The area they had walked through was one of the more denser paths, one that probably wasn't used often. Or, if it was, then Dream’s been doing a horrible job of keeping it… transversable. 

It was a little bit earlier than when they usually leave to go explore the forest, the sun wasn't exactly in the middle of the sky yet, so it was definitely cooler that time around. George had managed to snag his blue windbreaker on the way out, and even over the black hoodie Dream had lent him, the cool air had still stubbornly tried to bite at him.

It was manageable, but _annoying._

“What motions?” George sighs, and tried to think back to when he saw Dream move his hands like that. George tried his best to do so, but. 

He sighs in defeat. “That day with the bear or whatever. You motioned your hands to me weirdly.”

Dream shoves a branch out of his way, holding it back for George. George runs a little bit ahead, walking backwards to watch for Dream’s reaction. He stares at the ground in thought as he walks, noisily stepping on dead leaves. 

For such loud paths George is surprised that this forest is so quiet. He supposes that he can’t do much about it though.

Dream hums in thought. “Oh.” He perks up, and does a quick motion with his hands. “Like this?” Dream does a few more motions, and this time his hands fly over his mouth, his face, then he stops with a smile. 

George nods. “Yeah. What is that?”

Dream’s smile grows. He motions his index fingers in a circular motion towards himself, then moves his hands out in ‘L’ shapes. “Sign language.” 

George stares for a moment. “...you know _sign language?”_

He nods enthusiastically. “I do. I’m a little rusty, I haven’t really needed to use it for a long time.”

Dream continues to walk, and George runs hot on his trail. “Wait, _why_ do you know _sign?”_

Dream ducks under a branch, and George yelps in surprise when it almost flies into his face. Dream chuckles quietly, then continues to walk. “Well.” He grows a little quiet, and his smile falters. His pace stays steady though. Dream sends George a glance, staring at him for a moment. “I… sometimes I need to talk to people quietly.”

His heart skips a beat at the answer. “ _Why?”_

Dream pauses for a moment. “You’re smart. Figure it out George.”

Then hes back on the trail.

George holds onto his words, trying to think about why he’d ever need to be quiet out in the middle of the—

_Oh._

George feels dumb.

He’s forgotten. Forgotten why he’s here in the first place. Slowly, his mind wanders back to one of the first days he was here in this forest. 

A frown sits on his face, his stomach churning slightly. 

Memories of the monster sit in his head.

Words sat on the tip of his tongue but he had said nothing. 

  
  


The walk grew quiet. Dream didn't say anything, and neither did George. Maybe it was the best back then, now that he had thought about it. 

He remembers predominantly though that for the rest of the journey, George missed the sound of his and Dream’s voice. 

Missed their laughter. 

  
  
  
  


He only heard the sound of their feet against the dead leaves, instead. 

* * *

A few days after that is when he finally asks one of his questions. Not an important one, just something he had been curiously thinking about. 

“Hey, can you teach me some sign?”

Dream looks over from the couch, confused. He’s fiddling with a random puzzle that George hasn’t really looked at yet, but from the frustration in Dream’s voice, he probably hasn’t solved it yet. “Why, exactly?”

“Becuase I’m bored. And I don’t have anything to do most of the time, anyway.” Dream sends him a look, before he looks back to the puzzle in his hand. 

“That’s hard to learn. Sign I mean. Well—“ Dream curses when he messes up, and eventually just drops it on the coffee table. “It’s not exactly _impossible_ but there’s just a lot of memorization that comes along with it.” Dream runs a hand around the rim of his mask. George hops up from the stool by the kitchen, and sits down right next to Dream. He’s just in his own t-shirt now, and Dream’s wearing his black tank top. Dream glances over at him before moving back to the puzzle, grabbing it again. “Well. I _guess_ I can teach you some stuff. I have a book somewhere, so I can lend that to you later.” 

George laughs. “Alright, teach me something then.”

Dream hums quietly. “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”

George sends him a pointed look, and Dream laughs “Alright, alright. Here.” Dream rotates himself so that he’s facing George, and George does the same. 

He holds his hands out in front of him after dropping the puzzle, and George mimics. “Alright. What do you want to learn?”

“Oh, uh.” George thinks for a moment. “Well. How about… hi?”

Dream laughs. “ _What?_ No, that’s an easy one. It's literally just—“ Dream waves at him. “It’s self explanatory. Here,” Dream says, readying his hands. He brings his right hand into a fist, then bobs it up and down. “This means yes.” He then pulls his index and middle out together, then taps them twice on his thumb, also sitting out. “That’s no. Those are the two most basic and easy one’s two remeber, just becuase you can use them to answer a lot of questions,” he says, looking at George’s hands. “Try it.”

George looks to Dream, then to his hands. He mimics the motions shakily, and Dream nods. “Yeah, something like that. Here, one minute,” he says, walking off into his room.

George repeats the motion a few times, his hands slowly getting used to the motion. Dream reappears, this time with a yellow book in his hands. “Here.” 

“Thanks,” George says, eyeing the book. Across the front in dark, bold letters sit’s the words _‘Signed English: A Basic Guide’._ George looks back up to Dream, taking his spot back on the couch, puzzle in hand. 

“You can borrow that for however long you want to use it for. It’s a good start. Once you learn some stuff, you can sign it to me and I’ll make sure you’re learning everything right.” Dream flips the puzzle in his hands a few times. “I wonder how far you’ll get before you give up.”

They both chuckle. “I’m sure I’ll get kinda far,” George says. “And did you finish that puzzle?”

“Oh, _this?”_ Dream brings the puzzle closer to George, who’s hands run over the sleek cover of the book. In Dream’s hands sits a cube with different faces, each a different color. He rotates it a few times, some sides complete, others not. “This is a three by three puzzle, the goal is to get every color back in its original spot. Once it’s done, every side will be a solid color.”

George hums. “Interesting.”

Dream snickers. “Inch resting.” 

George rolls his eyes, and starts the book. The first few pages are the basic to sign as a language and any disclaimers. He skips past the pages, not exactly reading what's on them as the gentle clicks of Dream’s puzzle echo throughout the room. 

Fairly quickly, he had to go back and read those disclaimers anyway. 

This night, Dream stayed out with him, and when George’s vision became blurry, he had giggled. “Don’t worry, I’m tired too,” he whispered. 

George only hummed. 

He doesn’t really remember what happened after that. All he knew was that the warm blanket was around him and his eyes were too heavy for him to stay awake.

This time, he falls asleep without any questions in his head at all.

So he rests, rests, and rests.

* * *

It’s strange to think that this had become his new normal. Really, he’s only been here in the woods for what, almost a week now? But, to him, everything just feels…

Nice.

Off, but nice.

When George had woken up, it was to a dim, quiet room. At first he hadn’t tried to get up, but he _had_ reached over for the small sign book he had read all night. George hadn’t tried to sign anything quite yet, simply because he wanted to get get a feel for how the language works.

And really. He might’ve gotten himself another bite too big for him to chew again. 

After an hour of making sloppy motions that don’t really make sense to him, the sound of a door opening catches his attention. George looks up expecting to see Dream standing out side of his own door, but. 

Instead, he’s standing next to the doorway to the entrance. 

Brown, almost black stains on his jacket.

George opens his mouth to say something, but Dream is gone before he can say anything. 

Typical. 

When he comes back out, walking straight into the kitchen leaning against the cupboards where he always stands, George sends him a questioning look. But.

Dream doesn’t say anything. 

Another odd thing that happens. Dream never mentions what happens when he leaves. It’s strange, for him to leave and come back only for him to act like it never happened. It leaves George with a small frown on his face, and a head full of questions. 

He can wish all he wants, though; George knows he won’t get most of his questions answered either way. 

“So,” George says as he pads over to the stool by the counter. “How was exploring?”

Dream looks at him unamused. “...Exploring?”

George nods. At the lack of understandment from Dream’s end, he elaborates. “Y’know, like what we’ve been doing? Isn’t that what you do when you leave all the time?”

It’s a useless question, George suspects that it won’t be answered as soon as Dream turns to look at the ground. At the silence that follows, George sighs, looking out towards the window.

But.

“I don’t _explore._ ” George’s eyes widen. He tries his best not to show his surprise, but knowing Dream, he’ll catch it anyway. “I’ve been out here for a long time, George. When I disappear, i’m patrolling.”

Dream turns his head slighlty towars him. “ _We’ve_ been half patrolling, but it is more of exploring for you. So that if anything ever happens…”

His words become too quiet for George to hear. “...if anything happens?”

“So that if anything happens to me, if there were to be a point in time where I _can’t help you, you can escape,”_ Dream snaps. His voice has an edge to it, one that makes George shrink back in surprise.

Because.

George has never heard him _angry_ before.

George nods quietly. He doesn’t really understand exactly what Dream is implying, but. It leaves his heart feeling a little cold. Leaves his mouth feeling dry.

George hopes he’ll never understand what Dream’s implying with that statement. 

He doesn’t like thinking about something hurting Dream.

Not.

At.

All.

Dream sighs, his hands trailing around the brim of his mask. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “This is just… I—“ Dream looks up to George, only for his face to fall, and it makes George’s heart _hurt._ Dream looks away.

After a moment, he gets up, his head still facing the ground. George can only watch confused as he lumbers around the counter, his hand trailing over it as he passes. Dream takes a seat next to him, his head fixed on the smooth stone. 

Inhale.

Exhale.

“George,” he says, his voice quiet, calm. George’s heart does something funny. He doesn’t know how, but. In the back of his head, George knows that whatever Dream is going to tell him.

It’s gonna be important.

George eyes Dream carefully, his hands probing up his chin. Dream opens his mouth, closes it. Bringing his arms out in front of him, he turns ever so slighlty in George’s direction. “Listen. I know we really haven’t known each other for very long, but. I need you to know that if anything goes wrong, or, if anything seems… _off_ about me.” He turns, staring George right in the eyes. “I need you to _run.”_

George… doesn’t know what to think of that. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ that if there’s ever a time where I just…” He brings his hands up, only to sigh in annoyance. “If I’m just— not _myself._ You need to leave this place. You need to _run,_ you need to _run as far as you can.”_

George’s heart beats uncomfortably in his chest.

Something is wrong.

“Ok, wait, I thought— I thought I couldn’t leave?”

Dream stares for a moment, then looks back to the counter. “You _can’t._ But. If you’re away, I can just.” Dream motions with his hands to himself. “I can buy you time. Whatever happens, I can help you _escape.”_

Dream’s arms snake to George’s shoulders. “ _Understand?”_ His shoulders shake for a moment, but. Dream’s are shaking just as bad, no, _worse._ George can only stare half in horror as Dream’s shoulders shake, as is voice starts to crack, only can stare as—

George gasps quietly. 

...George can only stare as small, tiny tears drip out from under the mask.

“ _George,”_ he says, and, George doesnt know why he’s saying this now, or what made him say this, or what the _hell_ this even means— But. He absolutely cannot understand _why_ Dream’s _crying._ His voice sounds like he’s almost _begging_ George and it _hurts._ “George , _please._ Please promise me you’ll run. I can’t— _I can’t—“_

He chokes, more tears spilling down his face. His face falls, and George is frozen in place, stuck watching everything unfold before him.

Dream breaths in a shaky breath, then looks up to George.

“ _George, I can’t loose anyone else.”_

And.

_God._

Nothing had ever prepared George to hear something like _that,_ uttered from a broken, tried voice, uttered from someone who has too many secretes, one who gives George too many questions—

He would have _never been prepared for this._

And the worst part is that George _doesn’t know what to say._

Dream, the stranger who has given George more than he had ever expected, Dream, the stranger who had probably saved his life more than once, Dream, the stranger who isn’t really a stranger anymore—

This is who is crying in front of him.

This is who is desperately trying to save him, even though George isn’t really sure from _what._

Desperately trying to _help him._

And it’s just—

George doesn't know _why_ Dream would try to help him, why he took him to this little cabin. He’s positive that there’s more to it than Dream simply wanting to be nice, but. He just isnt sure _what._

But.

As Dream’s face starts to crinkle, as his body starts to fold in on himself, well. 

George just can’t watch.

With a frown on his face, he gently hooks his arms around Dream, pulling him into his arms. For a moment, Dream freezes. George finds himself tearing up slightly. He isn’t really sure _why,_ but. 

He wonders when Dream got a hug last.

Dream hiccups quietly, then grabs onto George like a lifeline. He buries his head into Georges neck, and George can only run his arm up and down Dream’s back as he quietly cries. And— It’s just—

George is surprised how _broken_ it sounds. His hands grip a little tighter around Dream with every little shake, every little whine. 

Again, George isn't good with this kind of stuff.

But. As Dream slowly slowly slowly starts to stop shaking, he feels a little bit better. The hug is kinda awkward, as they’re both on stools and sitting on the edge of each other’s seats, but thats alright.

To George, what matters to him the most right now is the fact that Dream is getting better.

That he’s able to help.

The question comes to him as a surprise. 

But.

It’s a question hes had for a while for himself.

It comes to him when he walks with Dream in the forest, comes to him when he wakes up to Dream in the doorway, comes to him on the few nights where Dream sits with him until they’re both too tired for their own good. 

In a small, shaky voice, he finds himself asking. “Dream?”

A sniff. “Hm?” George holds onto him a little bit tighter at the noise, only a little bit. 

“Are—“ He freezes for a moment. 

By asking this question, George is either going to get a yes or a no. Right now, he wouldn’t be surprised if Dream said nothing at all, but.

Really.

Curiosity killed the cat.

“Are we friends, Dream?”

Dream freezes, and instantly George finds himself thinking, _No, shouldn’t have asked that, Why that question, He obviously doesn’t think that, you are_ **_stupid—_ **

“Oddly enough,” Dream says with a quiet laugh. “I think we are.”

... _Oh._

George finds himself laughing. 

Unlike all the other times that he’s laughed—

This time he laughs before Dream can.

And when Dream laughs along too,

  
  
  


it’s only confirmation for George that trusting Dream wasn’t a bad idea after all.

Curiosity killed the cat. 

But this time. 

Satisfaction brought it back. 

* * *

After that, nothing much really changed.

Time was slow in the mornings, George would still wait for Dream when he woke up, they would go out and ‘patrol’ as Dream had called it, and then they’d come home.

Except. 

Now, when they came back George would learn sign, and Dream would make fun of him for signing the wrong things. Dream would work on his puzzle, George would suffer with the small little yellow book, and they’d both sit on the couch until one of them got tired.

Most times, it was always George that fell asleep first. Rarely, Dream will yawn, sometimes dozing off for a while. Those very few times that he _does_ fall asleep, George dins himself laughing lightly at the sight. 

Strange. 

It was strange for him to think that Dream could ever do anything to him.

Strange.

Strange, strange, strange.

Now, whenever they go out, George can roughly recognize where they are, like Dream had wanted to happen. Like, the day where he had gotten chased, that path leads down towards the calmer side of the river. And where he had first met Dream, farther down that path was a large cliff that George should very much avoid at all costs without anyone else with him. For the most part, they stick to the main areas George is familiar with. 

But.

There are some paths that he still hasn’t been down.

Like the path he had gotten chased on? Well, a little farther down the path, theres a second one that leads into an even deeper and darker part of the forest. When he had first seen how dark the path had gotten, George had thought that the sun was setting.

It wasn't.

Down that path, Dream says that there’s nothing there that George would need to see.

In the back of his head, though. George knows that whatever is down there is something he wouldn’t like.

But, at the same time, there's a lot of things he doesn’t like in this forest. Theres a lot of things that make him confused, that make him ask questions out here in these woods. Really, _anything_ here would make him think that same stupid thought of _I probably wouldn’t like what I see over there._

This thought though. 

It’s something that he should carefully listen to.

This is the same reasonable voice in his head that helps him figure out whats right from wrong. Whats good from bad.

This is the voice of reason.

This is a voice he should listen to.

...Right?

  
  
  


Like how he’s said before.

Questions aren’t good for people out here.

* * *

Then an oddity occurred.

It was a few days after he had helped Dream, they had gotten back from walking around the forest a little bit later than usual. The sky was an odd shade of blue, and when he had asked Dream about it, he told him the sky was actually purple. An odd shade really, but George supposes it’s nice.

He was sitting on his stool by the countertop, like usual, when an odd thing happened.

He heard something, right by his ear.

Dream was off in his room grabbing something, George thinks it was another puzzle, but he’s not exactly. 

So.

It wasn’t Dream who made that noise. 

George glances around, confused. When his eyes land on nothing out of the ordinary, he goes back to staring at the book in his hands.

But, then.

_Lost._

George turns quickly, this time standing up out of his chair. He _swears_ he neared a voice that time, more wind than a voice, but a voice nonetheless. He turns slowly.

But, he doesn't know what he’s looking for.

_You’re lost,_ the quiet voice says again, and George yelps. Ok, yeah, no, he isn’t going to deal with this today. He opens his mouth to yell for Dream—

Laughter interrupts him. _Lost little Georgie,_ the voice coos.

His heart jumps into this throat.

George opens his mouth—

Then something odd happens.

He can’t… feel anything for a moment. it’s like— He’s been plunged underwater. Time seems to slow, his limbs turning into _weights._

Something is wrong.

Something is wrong, something _very bad is happening—_

But George can't fucking _move._

_George,_ the voice calls, _Why don’t you come say hello?_

And he absolutely should _not_ listen, George should run straight for Dream’s room, barge in even though he’s never been in before, to _get away._

  
  
  
  
  


_..._ but.

The voice sounds so _nice._

  
  
  


George’s sight seems to blur.

  
  
  
  


His eyes glaze over.

  
  
  
  
  


_Come say hello, Georgie. Don’t be rude._

  
  
  
  


Quietly, his feet move on his own.

  
  
  


Out the door without a sound.

  
  


As hard as he can, George _fights back._

  
  
  
  
  
  


_Oh, none of that. That’s not necessary._

  
  
  
  
  


He becomes weak. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


He quietly moves on.

  
  
  
  
  


Through the forest.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Without a sound.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


For a moment, he’s vaguely aware of a very quiet _something_ calling for him, calling for George, but…

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


...What was he doing again?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Hmm….

  
  
  
  


_Stop,_ his mind cries out. _Stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop_ **_stop—_ **

  
  
  
  


_Stop?_ The voice laughs. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_If you would like me to._

  
  
  
  


All at once, George is back, his knees digging into the ground, his hands weakly pushing him up. 

_Fuck._

His entire body feels _off,_ everything is _aching,_ and he isn't quite sure where he is, but all George knows is that he needs to _get away._

  
  


_“Ooh George,”_ a honeyed voice calls. It makes George feel nice, but It makes his mind _sick sick sick._

Footsteps approach him, and he can barely even _move,_ his body suddenly too heavy for him to move. With all of his might, he struggles to move, to say something, to _cry for help._

He manages a weak whine.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


But no one responds.

  
  


The footsteps are closer now, and he _tries tries tries_ to move, to get away, to do _something—_

But he can’t.

His hands are shaking.

His body aches.

His head feels like it’s going to break into two, knives plunging into him.

George feels _sick sick sick._

  
  
  
  
  


Two hooves make their way into his vision.

George’s blood freezes.

_“Useless,”_ the voice says. It chuckles, a few flecks of black fall onto his hands.

It smells salty, and strong, and—

_Oh._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


George realizes that Dream never comes home in mud.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Dreadfully, George realizes that Dream comes home in _blood._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Theres a breath on his neck, now.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Something reaching out for him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He’s dead, dead, dead, now.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


George is glad he met Dream.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


A few tears slip down his face.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_“George!”_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


More blood spills in front of him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Black, like ink.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Uh oh.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM ALIVE!!
> 
> Hello! Apologies for the long wait, I got hit with a ton of work as well as some really bad burnout. So, instead of a normal chapter, here’s an extra long one! Ill be sure to respond to any comments I had missed when I was gone, being sick as well doesn't really help lol.
> 
> As national novel writing month is coming up, there will definitely be less chapter updates as ill be participating, but i’m pretty sure they’ll be kinda long so hopefully that makes up for it :)
> 
> Also! I GOT FANART??????? Please check this out, this is by SketchySkittles.png!! Its really cool!
> 
> https://sketchyskittles-png.tumblr.com/post/632384206746664960/compass-chapter-1-outofink-video-blogging
> 
> i cannot,,, comprehend how great the fan art ive gotten is,,,,, I love all of them very much <3
> 
> Double also! Thank you all so much for comments/kudos/hits! I really appreciate every single one of them :) I hope everyone enjoys the chapter!! (Sorry if I dont update for awhile as well! I’ll fix my schedule after November for sure!)
> 
> Edit: I've gone back and fixed some spelling errors, if you see anymore don't be afraid to leave a comment :) for some reason i cant ever catch them...
> 
> thanks again!
> 
> CW //
> 
> Blood, gore

_ “Hey, George! I found it, my—“ _

_ He freezes. His hands fall, the small puzzle falling to the ground, forgotten. _

_ “...George?” _

_ He turns, looking. Searching. He doesn't find what he’s looking for. _

  
  


__

_ But. _

  
  
  
  


_ The open door sure does catch his eyes. Outside on the floor, a small yellow book lays on the floor. Dirty, damaged. Some pages have been ripped out, even. _

_ Yet. _

_ There's no George. _

  
  
  


_ Where is George? _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


__

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Then he’s running. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Running, running, running. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ “George!” _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Then there’s blood. _

_ Black, like ink. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Oh no. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ And for a moment, he wonders who’s blood it is. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Then he sees who it belongs to. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_...that can’t be good. _

  
  


* * *

George is underwater.

Nothing is really exactly  _ clear  _ to him. Every color all looks like a blur, light and shadows mixing together easily. George’s heart jumps in his chest uncomfortably, his blood cold as ice. 

This cannot be happening. 

_ This cannot be happening. _

As George is left shaking and trembling on the floor, his head glued to the floor, he can’t help but think. 

  
  
  
  


How much of this is real?

  
  


How much is  _ fake? _

  
  
  


As more blood comes into vision, he can’t help but think that  _ this isn’t real. This cannot be real. _

But the hooves in his vision are real. The ringing in his ears are real. The mud under his hands and knees are real. 

And the blood?

George wishes it wasn’t, but it’s  _ most definitely real. _

Real, and on his hands. 

Real, and black as ink.

Real, and  _ warm. _

It leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat, makes him wasn’t to  _ vomit.  _ He can taste bile in the back of his throat, and  _ god dammit he can’t stop shaking. _

  
  


And yet.

George can’t quite seem to  _ focus. _

  
  
  


There's someone talking, and there's the voice that’s  _ most definitely not supposed to be in his head,  _ and there's a steady beat. Everything seems faint. Underwater. But the beat. He can’t help but focus on it. It’s faint, and George can barely tell it's there, but it is non the less. A constant beat.

A 

drip

drip

drip.

He wonders where it’s coming from.

Right now, though.

That doesnt matter, does it?

  
  
  


As the blood slowly moves into his vision, his heart go cold, cold, cold. Blood isn’t good, blood isn't good for  _ anyone,  _ why is there  _ blood?  _

As a hundred different questions fly through his head, George finds himself trying to breath, trying to understand what the  _ fuck  _ is going on, but then. The ringing in his ears disappears.

A new voice replaces that ringing, and everything comes to George in crystal clear clarity.

Becuase he knows that voice. 

Its one that he’s been with for quite some time now, a voice that he can recognize from a million miles away. A voice that reeks with confidence, a voice that’s always  _ loud.  _

The same voice he’s heard go quiet before.

That’s  _ Dream’s voice. _

“George.” His heart jumps at how  _ calm  _ he is, how he doesn’t even sound scared. That alone is enough to make George nervous. Make him more scared than before, and  _ that’s saying a lot.  _ “Why are you out here?”

His throat is suddenly dry and he can’t quite seem to be able to talk straight. After a moment, he whispers, “There was a voice.”

A hum. “Alright.” 

A dark, bitter laugh fills the air, and it makes shivers run down George’s spin, makes his eyes go wide, makes his body tremble more than before.  _ “Well, well, well,”  _ it says, bitterness laced throughout it’s words.  _ “Would you look who it is. Fancy seeing  _ you  _ here, boy.”  _ More laughter follows it’s words, and George can’t help but feel  _ empty. _

This.

This really really  _ really isn’t good. _

Dream doesnt say anything. 

And George is still staring at the floor. But like happened earlier, what happened only days ago, a small little question comes into his head.

And like before.

Curiosity killed the cat.

But.

_ George knows full well that satisfaction will  _ **_not_ ** _ bring this kitty back. _

With shaky hands, George slowly pushes himself up off the ground, only high enough to see whats in front of him. In the same black tank top as before, Dream stands in front of him, one arm littered with scars down by his side, and the other—

George’s heart stops.

It’s funny. 

There are some things in the world that may  _ never  _ be understood. And there’s some things in the world that are complex and are still understood. And there are complex things in the world that are understood, but these same complex concepts are sometimes too complex for even George to understand.

As George stares at Dream’s arm, he can’t help but think that this is one of those situations where he finds himself confused. Lost. 

Becuase…

...claws aren’t supposed to look like  _ that. _

George’s stomach drops. And he  _ swears to God  _ his blood gets colder, too.

Above George’s head, above  _ Dream’s  _ head, a large large claw,  _ one that's too large to be normal _ sits firmly against Dream’s forearm, his arm held above his head.

George finds himself almost hyperventilating.

...Thats a lot of blood on Dreams arm, isnt there?

His arm is mangled, not broken, but severely  _ hurt.  _ The very notion of such a thing leaves George almost dry heaving. 

And yet, here they are. Dream is hurt, and his arm?

His arm looks  _ bad. _

The skin where the claw sits is scrunched up, and oddly shaped. It looks almost like torn paper. After staring for a moment more, George can’t help but notice  _ oh. _

That's where the sound is coming from.

It's clear now, but. The sight of blood dripping onto the ground leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

He’s scared to look even past Dream. To see what had done this to him.

  
  


And when he does,  _ god. _

  
  
  


_ George wishes that he never did. _

  
  
  


The first thing that catches his eyes is the plate of metal over where a face should be, or. If a face on something  _ normal  _ would go. It’s sleek, bright, and  _ silver.  _ For as dark as it is, George is surprised by how reflective it is, but.

His heart gives away once he looks at it some more. 

This damn thing is  _ tall,  _ easily two and a half meters tall, and covered in dark fur. At first glance, the fur seems black, but It has an odd hue, he notices. Almost blue, but George thinks it’s supposed to be maybe purple. He doesn't question it. The monster is slouching, staring down at him and Dream. As it stares, its head swings to and fro. If it didn’t have a mask,  _ George is sure it’d be smiling.  _ Large ears sit on the top of its head, pointing straight up into the sky. For legs it has what looks like hooves, large, and black.

Large, broad shoulders, long arms that reach almost to the floor—

And claws. Claws, large large claws,  _ sharp long and dark dark black, claws that are easily multiple feet long— _

This…

Fuck.

This isnt good.

This isnt good this isnt  _ good this isnt good at all— _

_ “So, Dreamy boy,”  _ it says, but it sounds oh so  _ wrong. “Care to tell me how long you’ve had this one for?”  _ Dream twitches at that, but still. He says nothing. The monster laughs.  _ “Has he lasted longer than  _ him?”

Now.

George isnt exactly sure who ‘him’ is, but. 

Dream seems to.

He lifts his chin, staring right into the things eyes— face. “Do me a favor and  _ shut the fuck up.” _

And, of course, its not his words that scare George. Its how  _ dangerous  _ Dream sounds, how  _ cold  _ his words are that make George nervous. Something is going on, something is  _ wrong.  _ Besides the monster that stands in front of them with the long claws and metal for a face, there's a missing puzzle piece.

George is missing something.

He wonders why Dream is  _ talking to it.  _ Why they talk like they know each other.

Why Dream isn’t  _ horrified. _

George is missing something. But he doesn't know  _ what— _

More dark laughter interrupts him, making him flinch back on the ground.  _ “Oh Dream, don’t make wishes like that. I absolutely  _ hate  _ being quiet. You know you can’t do anything to me looking like…”  _ The thing makes a noise similar to someone cringing, a noise of  _ disgust.  _ “That.  _ Why even try?”  _

The monster leans down, right next to Dream’s ear. His words make George  _ terrified,  _ and he can’t even think about what Dream is thinking. George wonders if he’s scared. If he feels  _ anything. _

George wonders about what they are going to do. What will happen. His thoughts are interrupted before he can make any more questions.

_ “Why are you even  _ here _?” _

Dream laughs. George watches in half surprise, half fear as Dream shoves away the claw, his blood flying onto Dream and himself, making George gag silently. Dream turns to the monster, and says right back to it, “Probably to beat your ass.” Dream snickers at his own words.

George doesn’t.

...What did Dream say the monster in this forest was called again…?

The monster laughs. It leans back, only to crouch down to Dream’s level. The size of the damn thing is intimidating, and Dream is treating this like its  _ nothing. _

George quietly tries to scramble a little farther back, only to fall into the ground again. Neither the monster nor Dream acknowledge him, and he thankfully scoots back a little farther. 

But.

_ “You better watch your words,”  _ it says with a snarl. Every so slighlty, it moves its head up over Dream’s.

George freezes. 

Dream barely moves his head, but he sends a quick glance behind him, only to look right back at the monsters head.

He makes a quick motion. Or, no, he makes several. George, even though the hysteria and adrenaline flying through his blood, George can recognize the motions. They aren’t random movements, no, they are careful symbols. 

Its  _ sign. _

He wants to vomit.

But, really. 

Everything right now really makes him want to vomit.

It takes him a moment, but Dream signs what he did before slowly and carefully, over and over again. The entire time, the monster doesn’t seem to have a care in the world.

George’s eyes go wide as he finally recognizes the symbols with his very limited ASL.

_ Q-u-i-e-t-d-o-n-t-r-u-n-s-t-a-y _

The words send a shiver up his spine. That sounds like the opposite of what they should be doing, they should be  _ running,  _ not  _ staying— _

_ “Assuming by how scared he is,”  _ it says, catching Goerge’s attention as well as Dream’s. “ _ He doesn’t know, does he, Dream? Or maybe he does, and had forgotten.” _

“Shut up.” The monster laughs.

Dream sways, and George almost runs over to him at the sight, at the action. He’s half reaching out when Dream motions in his direction, an obvious sign of  _ stay back. _

Something is wrong.

Something is wrong wrong wrong.

And, no, its not the monster that makes him think this, nor the horrible way everything makes him  _ feel,  _ but.

There’s something about how Dream is acting that just seems  _ off. _

_ “Or,”  _ the monster says, its head looking at them both with a tilt.  _ “Does he even know about  _ that?”

George looks to Dream in confusion.

_ “Oh, so you  _ haven’t _?”  _ George flinches, and looks back to Dream. 

His heart does a funny thing when he sees Dream with his head hanging low. With an audible gulp, George opens his mouth—

Only to be cut off with the same movements of his hand, the same message.

Something is  _ missing. _

The monster throws its head back, laughing away. The sound isn’t something that really makes George feel better at all. It's not like Dream’s laugh. It's not a nice laugh. It’s just—

Laughter.

Laughter.

_ Laughter. _

_ “Well then.”  _ In one swift movement, it stands up to its full height, and it makes George squirm.

Like a whisper, it says in a quiet voice,  _ “Lets have some fun then, shall we?” _

After that, everything seems to move fast.

Too fast for George to even know whats going on, really.

The monster lunges forward in a blur. It’s claw comes racing down, quicker for even George to see, and Dream gets sent flying off into the distance, which is the only thing that he had apparently needed to make him  _ freeze on the spot.  _ George’s breath gets lost in his throat.

And then the monster is standing right over him.

And.

George is frozen.

His hands shake uncontrollably, his eyes glued onto it’s face.

For a moment.

George can't help but think that the plate of metal looks like a mask. It fits perfectly over the things face, covering everything it apparently needs to cover. Almost like...

Like Dream’s mask.

  
  
  
  


... _ wait. _

  
  
  
  


Two claws interrupt his thoughts before he can really think about it, each landing neatly by both sides of his face only a hair's width away. George gulps audibly, his hands moving to grip onto his chest.

The monster tilts its head at George, quietly laughing, Its voice is so  _ strange,  _ its like George can hear it in his head, yet. He can hear it coming from the monster, too.

And,  _ god, does he hate it. _

_ “So,”  _ it says, it’s face moving closer and closer to George. With every inch that it gets closer to George, George can’t help but flinch away, trying to get as far away from it as he can.  _ “Now that I can look at you up close, you  _ are  _ something else.”  _ A claw rubs against his cheek, the motion forcing him to look up at the monster.

_ Shit. _

_ “You know, I thought you were normal at first. Some human who had wondered into the woods,  _ yet.” The thing leans closer over him. George doesn’t notice the sound of Dream in the distance, calling for him. Doesn’t notice anything else other than the fact that,  _ oh, theres a monster in his face. _

But.

It’s words start to float around in his head.  _ Thought? _

George almost talks, perhaps to ask a question, but Dream’s words come back to him, and he tries to keep quiet. George isnt really sure if that is what Dream had meant, but he’d rather stay safe than sorry.

The monster laughs.  _ “I dont even think  _ you  _ know how special you are. Do you, George? Do you understand how special you are, my friend?” _

George hesitantly shakes his head.

The monster laughs.  _ “Of course you don't. Seems like Dream not to tell you. You, George, are very special. Do you know why?” _

As far as George can tell, he isn't very special in any way. He’s normal, just someone who codes in the world. There are millions upon billions of people in this world. Why is  _ he  _ so special?

He shakes his head no again.

Dark laughter. The monster brings its head right next to his ear, and George can’t help but want to  _ run run run. “You’re special becasue you’ll be the reason why Dream will… well.” _

It laughs. 

_ “Just watch. You’ll see, George, you’ll see.” _

Thats not good.

This isn’t good.

Oh no.

Oh no.

_ Oh no. _

  
  
  


_ Where’s Dream? _

  
  


The monster raises a claw into the air.  _ “Goodbye, George. It was nice meeting you.”  _

Now.

George can’t see its face, but.

If he could, he’d be sure that the damn thing would be smiling.

But he kind find himself to care about that, nor the large claw hanging in the air. One thing is on his mind, one question.

And when he has questions, well. George has a habit of asking them

George finds himself moving, finds himself talking before he can even think about what he’s doing. “Wait, no, what’s going to happen to  _ Dream?” _

But.

  
  
  


Then an oddity occurs.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Just like before.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Like earlier.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Everything seems to become muffled.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Like he’s underwater.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


But the feeling doesn't last for long. Not like last time.

  
  


Everything comes back to him with the sound of a crash of thunder.

In a half daze, George realizes that the monster is gone, hoof prints imprinted in the dirt where it was standing over him. George shivers at the memory of its voice in his ear, but tries his best to move on from it as best he can. 

Frantically, George searches for the monster, his head flying in every direction from where he lays on the ground. He searches for any sight of danger, and more importantly,  _ Dream _ , But.

They’re both gone.

And George is alone.

All by himself.

George stands up carefully, trying his best not to step on any branches or twigs. His hands are still shaking, and he can practically  _ feel _ the adrenaline flying through his veins, yet.

Its quiet.

No sign of life in any direction.

  
  


...That can’t be good at  _ all. _

A few droplets of water hit his face, making him flinch back in surprise. George’s hands come up to the cold water trickling down his cheek, rubbing it off. Staring up, he can see it, the makings of a storm. He knows rain will come soon, but he doesn't really think much of it.

Another crash of thunder rocks the ground, lightning lighting up the sky quickly only for a moment before disappearing.

Now, its only out of the corner of his eye, something that he might’ve never seen without that quick little flash of light, but. The lightning is enough to draw his eyes to two figures.

One large, the other small.

He doesn’t even need to look to know who the silhouettes belong to.

Before he can really even think about what he’s doing, George finds himself slowly making his way over to the figures, slowly slowly slowly.

Now.

Even though his heart beats heavily in his chest, and his hands are shaking, and his body is trembling, and that George feels  _ sick— _

He knows he can’t leave, can’t walk away from Dream and the monster.

Why?

Well.

George guesses that the small little reason is called friendship.

It’s a nice feeling, really. Something that can keep him warm on the darkest of nights. Something he can hold onto.

He’d be sad if this nice little feeling where to disappear.

Wouldn't he?

Another flash of lightning cuts through the darkness, the entire forest flashing white only for a moment. The large contrast in between the dark and light helps George sort of figure out whats going on, yet. He still can’t quite  _ see.  _ Not clearly.

In front of him, and really all around him are random broken branches, bushes, twigs, small trees, rocks— all sorts of stuff you would find in a forest. Now, the rain falls a little bit harder than before, enough to fill George’s ears with loud white noise, and only a little bit of ringing. 

It’s nice to hear something other than the high pitched sound that George is so used to here in this forest.

But really. He wishes he wasn’t.

Another flash. 

This time though, George is able to make out the figures more clearly, and it's most definitely the _thing_ and Dream. From far away, George can’t really tell what’s happening. Dream is standing strangely, holding his arm as the monster stands scarily still. Even from far away, George feels sick by just looking at that thing.

Really.

George finds it funny that he used to think that he was reasonable. 

This isn’t reasoable at  _ all. _

With a few more steps closer, George is able to make out quiet whispers of words against the downfall of rain, but the words aren’t loud enough for him to make out. Most sentences are lost to the rain, however some words he can hear clearly. 

George moves a little closer, then the words become clear. The rain makes it hard for him to hear but for the most part, George can understand the conversation they’re having.

And.

George almost deflates in happiness at the fact the voice isn’t in his head anymore, but.

That only means one thing.

The voice is in someone else’s head.

Carefully stumbling behind a tree for cover, George tries his best to listen to the conversation. With every second, the rain seems to fall a little harder, but from where he is, the noise still isn't enough to drown out the conversation.

_ “So,”  _ it says. The monster.  _ “How long can you keep this up?” _

Dream says something, but, George can’t really catch his words. He can only assume he had probably said something snarky, but he can’t tell. Carefully, George pokes his head out from behind the tree. His eyes widen slightly at the monster, but. This time, George is able to keep from freezing up. It’s almost pitch black now, and George can just  _ barely  _ see both of their forms, but it's enough.

_ “No, no, no,”  _ the monster tuts.  _ “You  _ know  _ you can’t. Dream, you don’t want him to end up like the last one you tired to protect, do you?” _

_...what does that mean? _

Dream lets out a short cry, and sends himself flying at the monster. Both of their figures move, and George can’t help but let the shock of Dream running at a  _ literal monster  _ fly through his blood, but he’s even more so surprised when the monster has to move  _ backwards. _

Becuase.

That can’t be right.

That isn’t normal.

This— this  _ thing  _ isn’t something that a person can fight on their own.

Yet.

Here’s Dream, throwing punches that shouldn’t be able to push back a two meter tall  _ monster,  _ fighting off something easily three times stronger than he is.

This.

This isn’t normal.

Then a thought comes to George as Dream and the monster exchange throws that always seem to miss each other,  _ another oddity on it’s own. _

Dream has always been off, hasn’t he?

George’s breath does something funny. 

His heart slows down.

His blood runs cold cold cold.

...George never really saw Dream eat, did he?

Something clicks.

Dream always left George in the cabin, alone and during the day, or sometime earlier than when George wakes up. He’d always come back in strange splotches of mud, dirt,  _ blood— _

George thinks about  _ why  _ he had never realized that Dream really never came home in dirt.

Nor mud.

Nor dust.

  
  


But, then it clicks.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He’s colorblind.

  
  
  
  
  


George can’t see red.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ George can’t see red. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


George wonders how many times he missed a puzzle piece, some sort of big hint because of it. Because he can’t see red or green.

  
  


When he thinks about it, George has questioned a lot of things that he wouldn’t question if he could see.

The amount of times he’s questioned what he’s looked at before leaves him  _ sick. _

That small little thought occurred to him when he saw the blood earlier, that George was indeed colorblind.

The blood.

It was dark.

Almost black.

And it makes him think.

...how many times did Dream leave and come back like that? How many times did he come back in  _ red?  _ How many times did he go out and—

  
  
  
  
  


George’s breath catches in his throat.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Where did the blood come from?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


...did Dream ever  _ kill anything? _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Bile sits in the back of his throat.

George’s head falls back against the trunk of the tree he’s leaning against, his hands flying up to his mouth. Behind him, he can hear them struggle, hear the monster and Dream fight. And honestly? George should be  _ running,  _ trying to escape while he can, yet—

He finds himself unable to.

Finds his feet frozen to the ground. 

Finds himself unable to  _ move. _

  
  
  


A dozen different thoughts fly through his head.

  
  


...is…

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


...is Dream  _ human? _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


A loud, shrill yell catches George’s attention, his eyes flying towards the painful cry. George’s heart leaps into his throat when he realizes that,  _ shit, that sounds like Dream’s voice— _

When his eyes land on Dream, he can’t help but do a double take.

His arms…

...why do they look  _ off? _

It’s dark and it might just be his eyes playing tricks on him, but. George has been around Dream for a long while now, and he knows for a fact that Dream’s arms aren’t supposed to look that  _ long.  _ His arms are somehow longer than normal, somehow wider. He sits crouched on the ground, his face hidden from George’s view. The monster laughs darkly, and starts to take careful steps towards him.

And.

That most definitely isnt good at  _ all.  _

George watches for a few moments longer before he’s off. 

Not to run, though.

He stands up quickly, almost unable to catch himself from falling for a moment. George glances around, looking for something that will maybe  _ help them,  _ trying to search for something that can get them out of here. Really, he donest know what he’s looking for exactly, but George is sure he’ll just.  _ Know. _

As George continues to look around, he can hear the monster and Dream go back to fighting. It sends George into a slight panic, but it only makes him search harder. Still out of sight, he moves quickly. He can barely even  _ see  _ anything, but—

Where he is seems somewhat  _ familiar. _

George isnt really why this place seems to just  _ click  _ in his head, but it just  _ does.  _ Like he’s been here before.

Somehow, he’s  _ been here. _

George’s brow scrunches together. He starts to run over all the details he can think of. It’s hard to focus, the rain makes it hard to think, and it’s now  _ pouring,  _ but. He’s been here.

George has been here.

But he isn’t sure  _ how  _ he knows.

Frantically, he realizes that now almost impossible to see.  _ Fuck,  _ this isnt good. George doesnt exactly have this forest memorized, he can only remember so much from however long he’s been here for. 

A loud roar behind the tree makes his stomache drop.

He thinks harder.

Where is he, where is he,  _ where is he— _

George walked right when he was leaving the cabin.

_ No fucking way. _

George drops his eyes to the floor, looking out as far as he can. With perfect timing, a flash of lightning lights up the sky in white.

That’s all he needs.

And.

George was right.

The light is only there for a moment, but, that moment is all George needs to figure out where his. There’s a path that leads both left and right of him. A stump a little ways away sits unmoving.

He knows exactly where he is.

What catches his eyes, though.

What catches George’s eyes is the bright flash of silver that hits him dead in the eyes.

Without even thinking about it, George knows exactly what that is. Within a heartbeat,  _ he's gone. _

With his heart in his throat, George starts to  _ sprint.  _ He can still hear Dream and the monster, but—

This can help him.

_ This can help Dream. _

As soon as he starts running, George trips once or twice but manages to catch his footing miraculously. A few leaves hit him in the face, blankets of water hit hits body leaving him shivering more so than before, but against even the twigs on the floor, the rocks under his feet, the loose gravel, and the branches that fly directly at him—

George pushes on.

One foot in front of the other.

Running. 

Running.

Running.

The sky lights up in white and blue, making George slide to a stop. His eyes stay trained on the floor as the sky becomes bright, and he can’t help the smile from spreading on his face when he sees it.

What he needs.

On the floor in front of George, an arrow sits. 

It’s head practically glows under the light, making light shine in every direction. The moment doesn't last long, though. The lightning disappears just as fast as it had came, and the sky becomes dark once more. 

With a gasp, George crouches down, his hands blindly reaching out in the space in front of him. Luckily, he doesn’t need to search for long. George yelps at the sting in his left hand, but quickly disregards the pain. It’s barely even noticble, really. 

That’s not what’s important right now, anyway. 

George carefully grabs the other end of the arrow, brining it close to himself. The darkness around him prevents him from seeing at all, the pitch black is all he can see, really. 

It’s like he’s in a void.

There’s absolutely  _ nothing. _

Anxiety sits uncontrollably in his chest, making him frantic. George tries his best to push away the feeling on top of everything else he’s feeling, but  _ he can’t. _

_ Focus,  _ he tells himself as his hands shake.

_ Focus,  _ he tells himself as it rains harder.

_ Focus,  _ he tells himself as he feels his body grow cold, cold,  _ cold. _

_ Focus,  _ he tells himself as he can hear Dream and the monster fight a ways away behind him.

  
  


_ Focus. _

_ Focus. _

_ Focus. _

  
  


It so so hard to do so, though.

He can’t focus. George hasn’t ever been in a situation like this where  _ so much is on the line.  _ He’s never been the one to act first, to make the saving throw— He’s never needed to. 

Becuase he wasn’t alone.

But.

Right now.

He needs to be the hero. He needs to be the one to save everyone. George needs to be the strongest one here. Becuase if he isnt…

...Then who will save Dream?

The person who had been the strongest? The person who has been saving him? The person who has been his own hero for  _ god knows how long? _

Inhale.

Exhale.

Breathe.

George opens his eyes and looks down at where the arrow should be. He sees nothing in the darkness, but that doesnt matter. His hand, the one he might’ve cut stings only a little bit. George can push through it. He lets his fingers run over the arrow. George isnt sure how long its been out here for, but, he’s surprised to find it still sharp. Still strong.

Still dangerous.

  
  
  


Inhale.

  
  


Exhale.

  
  
  


George stands up against the wind and rain. Turning around, he slowly begins to walk back to where the monster and Dream fight. 

Slowly.

Slowly.

Slowly.

Its funny to think that George was doing this exact same thing what felt like forever ago. The main difference, though. Between then and now.

Then, he was walking away.

Leaving.

  
  
  
  


Now, though.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Now, hes walking towards the danger.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Towards  _ Dream. _

  
  


Is he an idiot?

Probably.

Should George be doing this?

Nope.

But.

  
  


This is what is right.

This is what he should be doing.

Besides.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Him and Dream are friends, aren’t they?

* * *

_ A man stands behind a tree with a mask over his face. _

* * *

_ “Sorry about the instant noodles, it’s all I have right now.” _

* * *

_ Him and George running through the forest as the leaves fall by. _

* * *

_ Them sitting peacefully under the trees as a butterfly floats by. _

* * *

_ Dream and George exploring the woods together. _

* * *

_ Dream letting him slowly slowly slowly learn sign with his book. _

* * *

_ “Are we friends?” _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ “Oddly enough. I think we are.” _

* * *

The memories light a fire in George’s chest. 

And.

He isnt really sure what the fire is for. He doesn’t even know why its there in the first place, why its sitting in his chest. But. It  _ burns.  _ Its  _ powerful,  _ and  _ hot.  _ It makes George feel like he has all the power in the world, makes George feel like he can  _ do something.  _

It makes him  _ too confident. _

But, of course, like all things at the moment, that isn’t whats important.

As George makes his way back to Dream and the monster with a blaze of fire in his eyes, the feeling in his chest grows.

And, really.

He shouldn’t be feeling this way.

George should be  _ afraid,  _ and  _ scared,  _ and  _ fearful,  _ but he isnt. 

George is  _ angry. _

The memory of Dreams mangled arm comes into mind, and that feeling only grows. The memories of his cries from moments ago only add to the wildfire in his chest.

Dozens of small ideas unfold in his head, but they soon become plans, maps, all of  _ what he’s going to do. _ Each idea only builds upon the previous one, every single word only being a fraction of the painting that even George hasn’t really quite seen yet.

George is going to save Dream.

Or at least.

He’s going to use all of his power to  _ help him. _

Because that's why friends do.

Don’t they?

Yeah, that seems right in George’s head. It fits in his mind nicely. It doesn’t make him confused, or question anything. It’s a statement, a fact. 

A fact that is right and true.

George wonders if Dream would think the same of this simple little fact. George thinks that he would, funnily enough.

He hopes so, anyway.

Lightning lights up the sky once more, snapping George’s mind back into reality. He’s closer to the monster and Dream now, and his stomache jumps at the sight of them both. They stand facing each other, a considerable distance sitting between them. Dream’s arms still seem odd, but George isnt given enough time to really look at them and understand whats wrong with them. The last thing he can notice is how Dream is kneeling on the ground with his head hanging low, the sight making George afraid for him.

George reaches for something to grab onto in front of him blindly. A few seconds of slow walking is all it takes for him to find another large tree. He’s sure it’s not the same one he was using earlier, but it will do. Quietly, he leans against the damp bark. As the rain pours down on him, he’s certain that it’s not going to be that hard for him to be quiet. 

There’s no way that anything had heard him over the rain.

George can vaguely make out the sound of Dream’s voice, as well as the monster's voice talking. He isn't close enough to really hear what they’re saying of course, but he can tell that whatever they’re talking about probably isn't great.

Dream sounds… tired.

The monster sounds annoyed. 

And George’s own voice in his head that’s currently screaming at him to  _ run  _ sounds afraid and scared, but he manages to ignore that one. He focus on the flame in his chest, and pushes through all of the fear.

Focus.

_ Focus. _

More lightning lights up the sky, loud thunder claps soon following after. Before there weren't too many crashes, but. Now that the storm rages on, George can only suspect that he’ll hear more. 

George never really was a fan of thunder storms. They usually kept him up on nights he hadn’t meant to stay up on, and were overall just really loud and noisey. Rainy days where nice, but he didn’t really like thunder nor lightning. George vaguely remembers being afraid of them when he was younger, but he isnt too sure. 

As his surroundings light up, and as his ears ring at the thunder, George spots another tree closer to Dream and the monster, quickly advancing. He isn’t given enough time to judge how far away the tree was however, and manages to crash into the damn thing head first. 

Like he had with his hand, George ignores the pain. 

He’s closer now, but. He knows that if he wants to help Dream, George has to get closer to the  _ monster.  _

He shudders at that fact. 

Every time the sky lights up, George moves from the tree or rock he hides behind, and makes his way to the beast. With every foot he gains on it, the flame in George’s chest seems to grow smaller and smaller. But. With every foot he gains on Dream, he the flame  _ grows.  _

George has everything to loose, yet. He has everything to win. 

So he continues onward. 

After a few more trees pass him, George finds himself awfully close to them. Dream and the monster. For the life of him, George can’t remember what Dream had called it. 

He  _ does  _ know though that yt hadn’t really made sense to George then, and he’s sure as hell that it won't make sense to him now. 

There isn’t much he can do about that, not really.

He can only move forward.

_ At the moment though he really really really doesn't want to do that. _ The tree he hides behind sits directly behind the monster which luckily doesn't seem to notice him at all. George hadn’t been paying attention to what was going on between them, but, now that he’s close, George can’t help but try to listen to the conversation going on. 

George almost gags when the voice comes back into his hearing range. The bad one. The one he doesn’t like.

The one that makes him  _ scared _ .

_ “...but you will eventually.”  _ George was only able to catch the last few lines of what the monster was saying, and it only makes his skin crawl than anything. 

“No,” a voice says, almost  _ snaps.  _ George’s eyes widen at the little realization he makes. Thats Dream, isn't it?

_ “Come on now, don’t  _ deny  _ it,”  _ the monster caws.  _ “You idiot, sometimes I forget how stupid you are. I know for a fact that you can feel it. Even now, as the little thing sits behind me your blood calls, doesnt it?” _

_ So much for hiding.  _

George’s grip on the arrow tightens, and he turns to try to make out the things figure. Although he can’t see, instead of really trying to look, George waits for lightning. Any moment could be the one he needs, and its only a matter of waiting. 

His mind buzzes with questions, but he tries his best not to try to figure any of them out. At Dream’s silence, the monster continues.  _ “You know, I could kill him right now. Did you know that, Dream?”  _

George’s blood runs cold. Even against the rain, Dreams voice seeems crystal clear. 

Dark.

_ Dangerous. _

_ “Don’t you fucking dare touch him.”  _ The rain lets up slightly, enough for George to hear a single footstep. “If you do  _ anything to him—“ _

_ “Yes yes, I’m dead, you’ll kill me. I’ll be beheaded by the ferocious Dream,  _ I know.  _ It’s boring to hear you say that. I’ve heard it one too many times.”  _ It starts to laugh darkly, the sounds of hooves reaching George’s ears.  _ “I’m done waiting. Every little game of cat and mouse we play ends with me being the cat. I wanted to take my time with this hunt this time around. You know why, Dream?” _

The only thing George can hear is his heartbeat. 

Laughter.

_ “I wanted you make sure you would watch him _ **_suffer._ ** _ ” _

Now.

George is somewhat, slightly, not so reasonable as he thought he was. He used to think that he was reasonable, but he isn’t as much as a reasonable person as he had made himself out to be.

Because.

Really.

What part of this is reasonable?

In a moment, a few things happen. All at once.

Lightning lights up the sky. 

The monster is now in front of him, light reflecting off the flat slab of metal on its face. 

Dream is running in the corner of his vision.

He tries to move his arm, the arrow is moving towards the monster now, but not  _ fast enough. _

It’s claw rises.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Dream reaches up for his mask.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


And George?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Well.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He can only stare.

As the light begins to disappear, time flows normally once more. But that doesn't really seem to matter that much. 

Either way, he isn't fast enough to stop what happens.

Dream isn't fast enough, either.

For a moment, George wonders the last time he said ‘I love you’ to his parents. Told his friends how much he had appreciated them. How much Dream means to him. 

An empty feeling wells up in his chest. 

George has never told Dream how much he means to him, has he?

...oh.

He hadn’t.

  
  
  


The monster stares down at him, and if it didn’t have a mask on, George is sure it’d be smiling.  _ “Goodbye, George.”  _ It’s voice is laced with sweet sugar, deep and clear.

Too bad the voice doesn’t belong to a good thing.

Too bad it makes him  _ sick. _

Too bad, too bad, too bad.

And then the claw is falling. 

Dream is yelling something, but George can’t really hear it. It's muffled. Distance. 

Like he’s underwater.

Unlike before, though.

_ George is drowning. _

  
  


The claw falls,

falls,

falls.

  
  


And George braces himself.

Gets ready to get hurt.

Gets ready to die.

  
  
  
  


Faintly, he wonders what dying is like. Wonders about what it feels like. Does it hurt? Is it cold?

A small smile plays on his lips.

He hopes with all that makes him that death is like a release, just like how everyone said it was. 

Maybe then, he wouldn’t have to hurt for long.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


But, God, does life have different plans for him. 

  
  


The claw falls,

and George feels a weight on his chest,

But.

He doesn’t feel pain.

He’s vaguely aware that his eyes are closed, and that all he can hear is a high pitched ringing in his eyes, and yet— 

No pain ever comes.

….were the claws never sharp…?

A wet cough makes its way into George’s ears. Slowly, he opens his eyes again, but he see’s nothing. The only thing he can see for miles and miles is pitch black  _ nothing.  _ The rain isnt coming down as hard anymore, but its still raining enough for George to have a hard time making out whats rain, and what isnt. 

The one thing, though.

The one thing he can make out is heavy breathing.

The weight on his chest sinks down to his lap, and it’s something… warm.

George’s right hand is trapped under it but his other one is not. Carefully, he lifts his left hand to what’s on top of him. 

Fabric.

...George knits his eyes in confusion.

He experimentally presses down harder—

But flinches back at the whimper of pain.

What…?

George’s blood turns to ice. “...Dream?” His voice is barely even above a whisper, filled with cracks and inconsistencies that should’ve been embarrassing.

He doesn’t care.

Not right now.

_ Not right now. _

George shifts, pulling what feels like a head into his arms. A plate hits his chest gently, and he can’t help the way his heart seems to stop in his chest.

This isn't good.

_ This isn't good. _

Oh no oh no oh  _ no oh no oh no— _

_ He took the fucking hit. _

**_Dream took the blow._ **

_ “Hmph. A shame, really.”  _ George jumps back at the voice. The fire in his chest is small now, barely even a quarter of the size it was beforehand. But, before, he wasn’t  _ alone;  _ now—

George is all alone. 

Dream is in his arms, not moving,  _ unresponsive.  _ George tries again, gently shaking him. “Dream? Please Dream, hey,  _ wake up—“  _

_ “Stop that,”  _ the voice roars in fury.  _ “It’s annoying.”  _ George does so, but he doesn’t think he needed to be told to do so. Now that he can move both his hands, he can't help but notice that Dream is limp. George can’t feel him move.  _ At all. _

Dream is limp.

In his arms.

After the claw came down.

The large claw.

The sharp one.

Thats when Dream became unresponsive.

It hurts to breathe.

_ “Well. That was easy. So, George, do you have any last words for me?” _

His mind is empty. No words come to mind. George’s hands shake as he tries to hold onto Dream tighter than before.

This isn’t good.

This isn’t  _ real. _

The monster tuts.  _ “Hmph, fine then. Oh, well. Its like I said before, George.”  _ A claw rubs against his check, and he freezes. His stomach is empty, his blood is cold, and George knows for a fact that water isn’t the only thing running down his face.

God, he wishes he could see.

See Dream one last time.

A voice lands right next to his ear, and George  _ hates hates hates it. “You’re special.” _

He doesn’t care. He remembers what Dream had said earlier. “Fuck you.”

_ “Alright then.” _

White.

  
  
  
  


White.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


White.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


All he can see is white.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Nothing nothing nothing.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Nothing at all.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s cold.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Quiet.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Odd.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


But, then there’s a voice.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Quiet.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Calm.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s not the honeyed voice. And its not in his head.

  
  
  


But its distant, distant, distant.

  
  
  
  


_ “George. You need to wake up.” _

_ I can’t. _

_ “Yes, you can.”  _

The voice fades, only slightly.

_ “Listen, you need to help me out here, alright? You need to wake up.” _

_ Why? Its nice here. _

_ “Becuase if you sleep for much longer, he’ll get you.” _

_ Who? _

_ “The monster.” _

His memory is foggy.  _ … Who? _

_ “The Altered.” _

Ah. That's what it was called. A silly name.

A gentle laugh catches his attention.  _ I didn’t name it that. It’s just what everyone calls them. _

_ “Why?” _

_ Well. How about I tell you when you wake up? _

_ “Promise?” _

A pause.

  
  
  


_ Promise. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


George gasps, his grip tightening on the frantic in his hands unconsciously. Another gasp joins him, and George can only assume its Dream. “Dream?” George flinches back at the sound of his own voice.

But he freezes at the voice that answers him back.  _ “Quiet.”  _ George flinches back harder, becuase  _ thats the monsters voice, isnt it? The Altered, the beast, the one with a metal mask— _

**_The one that can kill him—_ **

A hand latches onto his chest in the dark. “No, shh,  _ please _ .” The voice is quiet and raspy. Wet. “G—“ A groan. “...cabin. Get back to the cabin.” Dream coughs some more, and it just so  _ odd  _ sounding, George can’t help but wonder what’s  _ wrong.  _

He wonders but. He doesnt get to think about it for long, anyway.

It’s still pitch black out, and George can’t see all that well, but. The one thing he needs right now is light. 

Too bad the storm is calm, now. The only thing that falls from the sky now is gentle rain. No lightning, no thunder, no loud noise from the sky.

It’s scary.

Frightening, almost.

Yes, its quiet, but. Its just as dark. George can’t see a damn thing, and now  _ definitely isn’t the time for him to not be able to navigate. _

He gulps audibly, and prays to whatever God up there to let him  _ live,  _ even if it’s only for a few moments more. 

Dream shifts in his lap, moving his arms. He seems to fold in on himself, and George’s heart most definitely doesn’t like how his breathing sounds. Its ragged, quick.

George wishes he was wrong for once. That Dream wasn’t actually anything but fine.

Yet.

Sometimes, George is right. He hates that now is one of those times.

Very very carefully, after listening for as much as a pin drop against the quiet rain, George tries his best to stand, bringing Dream up with him. For a moment, Dream protests, trying to get away but George keeps his grip on him tight. He doesn’t dare even try to talk, his stomach already filling with dread at the thought of seeing the monster; hearing it or it hearing him, he should say. 

Placing a hand for balance on the tree, George maneuvers Dream so that one of his arms drapes over George’s shoulder. Every little moment seems to make Dream cringe, and George can only stop for a moment, before trying his best to be more careful with the following movements. 

With every quite cry from Dream, George’s heart jumps straight into panic mood. He isnt sure why, and he really wishes his heart wouldnt do that. 

He waits once Dream is comfortable.

Standing in the cold.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting. 

For a moment, George is sure nothing even breaths. The rain disappeared, and nothing could be heard. On second thoughts, maybe he shouldn’t try to get back to the cabin. Maybe— maybe theres another way around this, another way to try to get  _ out— _

Dream shifts, and George almost snaps at him, thinking he’s trying to get away or something,  _ he seems like the type, _ but stops when he hears fabric. After a moment, a small light on the ground appears. George gasps at the new light, happy and delighted and scared and stressed all at once. He turns to Dream with an uncertain smile on his face—

_ Wait. _

_ No. _

_ That can’t be right. _

Dream’s face is slightly hidden from George, mostly from his hood, but. George donest need to see his face. 

Down his mask slips something dark.

Not as dark as ink, but something  _ dark. _

Its brown he realizes after a moment, and he’s close enough now to realize its got a slightly sour and salty smell, and it looks kind of thick, but— Thats not—

Thats not  _ blood…  _ is it?

Dream wheezes a little, liquid dribbling from his mouth. George’s eyes snap down in concern, but. He wishes he didnt.

Becuase then he saw it.

_ A lot of it. _

Below Dream, and horrifically George realizes that it's on  _ both of them,  _ is blood. There’s a large stain on the ground, and on both his and Dream’s clothes are deep dark stains, black and brown and  _ wrong wrong wrong.  _ Just the sight of it all sends bile crawling up George’s throat and he half heartedly swallows it back down.

He’s already  _ so so sick  _ from just looking at the dark luiquid, but. When Dream coughs again, and George turns all of his attention on him—

God.

_ Fuck. _

Everything is spinnnig.

A large slash as clear as day sits on Dream’s stomache, with blood freely running from it. For a moment, George didn't even think that it was a wound, because  _ there's no way that someone could get hurt like this and manage to stay alive.  _ And yet. Here they are.

His eyes widen.

Hands start to shake.

And everything is blurry all over again.

Dream sways slighlty, and the reality of this entire ordeal hits George like a truck.

Dream is hurt.

Dream is bleeding.

Dream  _ is dying. _

George’s breath seems to disappear, getting smaller and smaller with every passing moment. His heart isn't even beating in his chest anymore, Dream is dying and he can’t move just like before. Dream is dying Dream is dying Dream is dying  _ in his arms— _

_ Move. Move move move move move,  _ his mind cries.  _ Please move,  _ **_save him._ **

For a fearful, dark, horrible moment, George thinks that maybe.

Maybe this is the end of the line for Dream. 

That he might die here.

Becuase  _ shit no one who has lost this much blood is gonna make it. _

But.

That little fire comes back. 

The small little fire from before, the same fire that had given him courage to help Dream. 

Small little tears drip down George’s face. 

Its such a weak, pathetic fire, and yet. It’s enough for him to take the small flashlight resting in Dream’s hands, enough for George to grab onto him tighter than before, and its enough for him to  _ go go go. _

Off they go.

  
  
  
  


This is going to be a long night.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Every comment and kudos is greatly appreciated! Each and every one inspires me to write a little more, to finish a little faster. I'll try to make something that everyone can enjoy, so thank you for joining me for the ride!
> 
> Also! I do take constructive criticism:)
> 
> thanks again :)
> 
> (You can message me at OutOfInk#6609 on discord, now you can also reach me on Tumblr at OutOfInkk)


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